CrossTime Damage Control
by Philip S
Summary: When you intend to keep an entire multiverse safe, you need some pretty special individuals on your team. Thank God there are an infinite number of worlds to recruit from.  Current Story: Faith in the Hexagon and the Galaxy Rangers can't take a joke.
1. Get Together 1: Recruitment Drive

Cross-Time Damage Control

by Philip S.

Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, Warner Brothers, Mutant Enemy, and whomever else. Other elements in this story belong to David Panzer, Marvel Comics Group, and probably a lot of others once I figure out whom else to bring into this. Nothing is mine except the plot.

Rating: PG-13

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Author's Note: I know I have a bunch of unfinished stories lying around, but I have learned to simply follow where my muse takes me and stop complaining. This story came to me pretty much spur of the moment. It is a sequel (of sorts) to my story Soulworld VI (available exclusively on my website) and also contains characters from my story The Slayer 314 Project (available at my site and here at fanfiction.net), but there is no need for you to have read either story to enjoy this one. All necessary background details will be provided in the course of the story itself. That said, enjoy the read! And don't forget to review!

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Chapter 1: Recruitment Drive

#

Restfield Cemetery

Sunnydale, California, USA

March 17, 2093 AD

Parallel 017

#

Your name is Alexander Lavelle Harris and you would be celebrating your 112th birthday today. If you had anyone to celebrate it with, that is. As things stand, though, you are all alone and the only thing anyone is likely to give you for your birthday is a quick death. Which might not be the worst gift you ever received.

Looking at the cemetery you are in, gazing at the row of headstones before you, you can't help but wonder whose cruel idea of a joke it is that you of all people are still alive long past the time when you should have crumbled into so much dust. Times were you were the most likely to die. In a group of people with all sorts of mystical powers and skills you were the odd man out, the one who couldn't do anything but provide lame jokes and make the snack food runs.

Now you are the only one left. All the others are gone, either taken by time or the forces you have been fighting against for so long now. You would be, too, if not for that very, very strange night when your entire life turned upside down and inside out. The night when it appeared that the fool's luck you had been depending on for so long ran out and a random vampire got to you before any of your friends could come to your aid.

The night you died.

Only you didn't stay dead, did you? Ever since one of your two best friends since childhood, Jesse, had been turned into a vampire and you found yourself forced to stake him you dreaded the day the same might happen to you. That a demon would slip into your dead flesh and walk around the night with your face, killing with your hands. So when you found yourself waking up in the morgue you naturally assumed that you had been bitten, drained, and given a liquid diet that turned you into one of the walking dead.

You were wrong, as became evident when you walked out into the sunlight with the firm intention of killing yourself before the hunger for blood could overwhelm you. The sunlight did not burn you, the hunger you kept expecting did not come. You still had a pulse, you still breathed, and everything seemed business as usual. Except, of course, for the fact that you had been quite dead.

It took the encounter with a beautiful woman called Amanda to enlighten you. She taught you about what it means to be an immortal, that you will live forever unless someone cuts off your head. She taught you about the Quickening, about the Game, and that, in the end, there can be only one. That all immortals must fight for the Prize, even though none of them know exactly what it is. She taught you how to use a sword and the night you took your first head, in self-defence, she praised your skill even as you puked out your guts in disgust.

You have taken many heads since that night and it has gotten easier, if never quite routine. You have met many other immortals and not all of these encounters ended with a duel and a head coming off. All the while you still fought side by side with your friends, who took your return more or less in stride. After all, stranger things had happened to that ragtag group of demon-fighters and outcasts.

One by one, though, they all died. Buffy fell in the fight against Glory, saving the world as usual. Willow died when she tried to bring her back, the spell misfiring and incinerating her. Giles died of old age, slipping away in his sleep one night. Tara was burned at the stake some months after the existence of the supernatural became public and ignited a frenzy among the normal people, one that lead to wide-scale purges among the supernatural community, both evil and good. Dawn simply vanished one day when the spell that had given her human form was disrupted by a mystical event in Asia, one that caused magic worldwide to go haywire. And Anya returned to being a demon, figuring that she needed to be immortal, too, if you were. Unfortunately her profession drove a wedge between you, one that has never healed.

The only one of the old gang you still occasionally have contact with is Angel, who is still going strong and showing no signs of letting up. For a while the two of you actually fought side by side, but it never quite felt right. So one day you went your own way and haven't stopped walking yet. The only constant on your journey being your annual visit to Sunnydale and the graves of your friends.

You are tired, extremely so. More and more often you play with the thought of simply giving up. All your friends are gone and it seems there is nothing worth fighting for anymore. The same mystical event that ended Dawn's existence, fabricated as it might have been, annihilated all of the demonic creatures that had survived the purges and the only evils left in the world are the purely human ones. What is there left to do for you? Fight for the Prize? Hope to make it to the Gathering? What for? You don't know.

There is a tingling in the back of your skull and you know than another immortal is nearby. Slowly you get up and walk out of the cemetery, for fighting on holy ground is forbidden. You spot him almost immediately. A hulking figure, dressed in black leather, carrying a sword almost twice as long as the one hidden beneath your coat.

"I'm Alexander Harris," you say, slipping the blade out of its scabbard. It seems to get heavier and heavier with every passing year.

"I am Kurgan," your opponent growls. "You don't look as if you will put up much of a fight."

"Let's find out, shall we?"

To your credit you fight valiantly and one could almost get the impression that you want to survive, that you care whether you live or die. On your best day you might even have been able to beat Kurgan, who is one of the most powerful immortals in existence. This is not your best day, though, and before long your sword lies shattered on the ground, you are bleeding from a dozen wounds that would be lethal to anyone else, and Kurgan raises his blade for the finishing blow.

"There can be only one!"

Then everything stops.

You look up, surprised, seeing that the world has frozen around you. Kurgan has transformed into a statue, even the droplets of blood falling from his sword hang suspended in mid-air. Nothing is moving, not even the wind, and not a single sound reaches your ear.

That is, until someone starts speaking to you.

"The moment time resumes its normal flow," the voice says, "the big guy here will kill you."

You look around and gasp as you see the only moving thing in this frozen world. A figure that looks almost like your best friend, many years dead now, if it wasn't for the fact that her entire form seems to be made out of crimson metal.

"Do you want to die," the figure that looks like Willow asks, "or can I interest you in an alternative?"

#

Shapeshifter Retreat

Arizona, USA

August 8, 2001 AD

Parallel 013

#

Your name is Daniel Ozborn, but most people used to call you Oz. That was before, of course, back in those happy times you sometimes manage to remember. The times before you became what you are today. Before En Sabah Nur.

There was a time you were a happy guy, though one could seldom tell from your face. You had friends, you had a girl you loved, you were part of something important. There were a few times you even helped save the world, which is more than most other people can say. There were problem even back then, of course, such as that connected to the rise of the full moon, but these kinds of problems could be handled. Or so you thought.

Sitting here with your eyes closed, meditating in search of your inner calm, your memories inevitably drift back two years to the time everything started going wrong. For nearly two years you had been able to handle the fact that you were a werewolf and transformed into a raging beast three nights of the month. Then Veruca came, another werewolf, and things went downhill from there.

Fearing for the safety of the girl you loved, the one your monstrous alter ego had almost killed, you left your home and traveled the world, looking for answers. No, not answers. Control. You weren't interested in understanding your curse, only in suppressing it. That was your first mistake. The second was going back when you weren't ready.

Coming home half a year after you left, you expected things to go back to the way they had been. Your girl was still there and she'd still love you, right? You had the wolf under control, right? Wrong on both counts. Your girl had found someone else, another girl to be exact. Finding out about that robbed you of your precious control and lead to your capture at the hands of a madman.

The Initiative Project had been meant as simple field research, a part of the US government's mutant agenda. Mutants, human beings born with an X-factor in their genetic structure that could manifest in various forms. Telepaths, telekinetics, people with wings, super-powered teenagers with mayhem on their minds. The people feared them and the government wanted to either control or kill them. When word got out about the demons in Sunnydale the government believed them to be mutants and sent in their scientists and soldiers.

What they didn't know was that, among those scientists, was a man named Nathaniel Essex. Pretending to be a loyal servant of the government, his true loyalties lay with someone else. Someone very interested in both mutants and the demonic. Someone who firmly believed that the world needed to be cleansed of the weak, that only the strong were fit to survive.

En Sabah Nur. An immortal mutant from the time of ancient Egypt, powerful and ruthless. His plans were to create conflict, believing that the weak would perish and the strong would inherit the Earth. Mutants against humans. Humans against demons. Mutants against demons. He didn't care as long as there were battles to be fought. The Initiative, humans investigating mutants that turned out to be demons, was an opportunity the likes of which he had been looking for.

You were one of the first to fall into his clutches. A human being changed by the supernatural, En Sabah Nur and his servant Essex changed you even further by means of genetic enhancement. Turned you into something inhuman, monstrous. Programmed your mind with false loyalty and sent you out to unleash carnage upon those who had been your friends.

And what carnage you unleashed. When the Initiative came crumbling down amidst the warring demons and humans with a few mutants thrown in for good measure, you found yourself facing your former friends. Buffy, the Slayer, would have killed you despite your enhanced strength and brutality, but your girl, Willow, recognized you and cried out for her friend to stop. It led to a fatal hesitation. It led to casualties. When the dust settled Buffy was dead, torn open by your claws.

The shock of seeing her dead freed you and you turned against the one who remade you in his image. En Sabah Nur but laughed, though, proud of the way you turned out. He left, his work done. The government believed that mutants were responsible for the fall of the Initiative and began working on the Sentinel Project, planning to exterminate all mutants. Hundreds of demons that should have been neutralized were freed. Mutants were enraged, thinking the demons to be mutant victims of the government's experiments. And the Slayer lay dead.

You left then, unable to face your friends after what you had done. You still can't face them. Your humanity, though somewhat restored, still hangs by the barest of threads. The beast En Sabah Nur created slumbers inside you, but may wake at all times. When you found this place, a retreat where shapeshifters can come to learn about their curse, you hoped you would find peace.

Since coming here a year ago your control has improved. The violent rages En Sabah Nur instilled in your mind have grown less frequent. Your transformation into the beast is voluntarily now, coming and going as you want. The others here, at first suspicious of you because you are so different from a normal werewolf, now look to you as a friend and (in the case of the young ones) even something of a teacher.

Yet peace eludes you. The lust for battle still fills your heart. In your dreams you see yourself fighting, losing yourself in the beast, slashing your friends and enjoying it. And you know that En Sabah Nur is still out there. Should you meet him again, you do not know whether you will have the strength to fight him or will fall back under his yoke.

You begin to fear that, in this life, you will never be able to find peace.

Suddenly there are sounds from outside. Screams of fear and terror. The beast inside you immediately comes awake. Fur rolls across your arms, hands lengthen into claws. When you rise to your feet they are feet no longer, but paws. The hut's door is almost too small for your hulking frame and you walk on all fours because it feels more natural.

A shadow has fallen across the retreat. A shadow cast by a gigantic figure of metal. Standing at least a hundred feet tall, the robotic monstrosity dwarfs even you as its cold eyes look down upon the retreat with clinical detachment.

"Potential mutants located," a metallic voice states. "Proceeding with elimination."

Had you been paying attention to the news you would know that this monstrosity is a Sentinel, a government-built combat unit created for the express purpose of finding and eliminating mutants. If you knew that you might have realized that your own mutated genes are what led the Sentinel here to the retreat and placed all your friends in danger.

You know none of this, of course. You only know that something threatens the closest thing you have to a home these days and you spring into action.

Muscles enhanced by both science and the supernatural easily propel you upwards toward the Sentinel's neck and clawed fingers penetrate armored metal, ripping a gaping wound into the robot's hide. The machine tries to defend itself, tries to follow its programming, but you are too quick for it. A moment later it falls, almost squashing the retreat beneath it, its head torn clean off by something that is neither demon, nor human, nor mutant, but a combination of all three.

Triumph fills your heart, the beast elated that it brought down the much larger prey. The feeling is short-lived, though.

"Sentinel unit disabled," the machine says. "Emergency fail-safe activated."

Before you can wonder what it means by that a glaring light blinds you. Your eyes, hyper-sensitive in this form, hurt as if needles were stuck into them and you look away. When you can finally see again something very strange has happened.

All the people around you are frozen, their faces masks of fear. The light is still glaring from behind you and you carefully look around, astounded when you see the source.

The Sentinel is exploding. A fireball has ripped open its chest, but is frozen just like everything else around here. You realize that you are but a moment away from death, yet something has given you a respite. Can you run? Can you get the others to safety before this mysterious grace wears off and everyone dies?

"I'm sorry, but you can't help them," a voice from nowhere says, answering his question.

You swirl around. It has been ages since anyone has been able to sneak up on you, your enhanced senses making it all but impossible. Yet someone is there. The mere sight of the visitor wrenches your heart.

"Willow?" you ask.

The figure that looks like your girl gives him a smile. She is not human, that much is for certain, as humans are not covered in crimson metal. Yet she is Willow. You know the way she moves, the way she smiles. That's Willow.

"This is the moment you die, Daniel," she tells you. "As of now you only have two choices. You can go through with that fate," she points at the explosion that hangs suspended behind him, "or you can accept my offer."

#

Greenwich Village

New York City, New York, USA

November 10, 2003 AD

Parallel 022

#

Your name is Rupert Giles, though oftentimes you still prefer the name 'Ripper'. A nickname from your youth, received at a time when the most important things in the world were music, cigarettes, and the next pretty girl that needed to be picked up. And magic, of course. Magic has always been important in your life, even in the days of your misspent youth.

These days it is more important than ever. You have always been connected to magic in one way or another, right from the day you were born. The Giles family has dabbled in the supernatural for many generations, most of its members having been initiates into the secretive organization known only as 'the Watchers'. This was to have been your fate, too, but you had other plans.

As the magic flows around you the memories float to the surface as well. The days of companionship, when a group of foolish young mages conjured a demon called Eyghon and learnt a bitter lesson about the dangers inherent in magic. The days of travel, when you sought new purpose in your life and finally found it in the mountains of Tibet, just when you were almost ready to give up and become a Watcher like your father wanted. The days of learning, when you were initiated into the arts of magic by the sorcerer known only as the Ancient One. And finally, the present, when you wear the title that your teacher once wore.

Sorcerer Supreme.

It is a title with a great many responsibilities. As the most powerful mage alive today it is your responsibility to keep the balance of magic intact. Sometimes this means fighting demons that hope to bring about Hell on Earth (a duty that has led you back into contact with your roots more than once when you found yourself fighting side by side with the Slayer), at other times it means something as simple as making sure that a young boy receives a letter.

It is not always a pleasant duty. Magic, like all things, must be balanced and applied only in moderation. Too much of either extreme, be it light or dark, and the world falls into chaos. If dark magic were to have its way the world would become Hell. If the light were allowed to reign supreme, then most people alive today would be struck down where they stood for the unforgivable crime of being human instead of perfect. Magic must be balanced and sometimes that means dipping into the dark as well as into the light.

Your teacher described it as walking in the gray. It's as good a description as any you have ever come up with.

This is what you are doing right now. While your body is in suspension, floating in a protective cocoon of magic, your astral self is afloat on the winds, walking like a ghost among men who are, for the most part, completely blind to the world you see every day. The signs have told you that today is an important day, for but a few blocks away from your home a child is about to be born. There is a chance, though but a small one, that this child will become the next Messiah.

And as is always the case, where a Messiah is born there will be a Herod.

There are always groups at work behind the scenes, looking to further whatever cause they believe in. Most of them do not look kindly upon the possibility of a Messiah being born and bringing the world one step closer towards paradise. They want to maintain the status quo. So once they learned of the child's birth they sent an assassin after it, just to be on the safe side.

Stopping the assassin takes you all of five seconds and you take another minute or two to watch the child being born. There is magic in it, if but a small spark. Personally you don't think this will be the next Messiah, yet even if it just turns out to be another normal human being you wouldn't have let it be killed. That is not the kind of man you are.

Finally you return home, looking to reenter your body and rest for the night. But quite unexpectedly you find your way barred by a spell. A spell that is known to you. You yourself created it for the purpose of keeping out hostile spirits.

"You look surprised," a voice says, one he is very much familiar with.

A woman has entered the room where your body rests. She is your disciple, as well as the woman you love. Her name is Jenny and, until this moment, you would never even have considered the notion that she might one day betray you.

The cruel smile on her face tells you that you have erred. Not for the first time, but possibly for the last.

"Jenny? What are you doing?"

"What do you think, old man? You have taught me all I needed from you. It is time for a new Sorceress Supreme. I think the world will soon become a much more interesting place."

With that she raises the enchanted dagger over her head and you know that there is no way for you to stop her. She is inside your defenses, she has caught you at a moment where you are most vulnerable, and you never even considered defending yourself against her. This is the moment you die.

Only suddenly time comes to a stop.

"This is your doing, I assume?" you ask the figure that has suddenly appeared next to Jenny, the only figure moving in a world that has frozen in place.

"Guilty as charged," she answers. She looks strange to you. Her features are that of a young woman, but her body seems to be made of crimson metal. You feel magic around her, quite a bit of it actually, but also the cold presence of technology. Despite the fact that you are hovering one frozen moment away from your death you find your curiosity piqued.

"Your life in this world is over, Rupert," she tells you. "You can either try your luck in the afterlife or consider my offer to you."

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Get Together 2: Welcome to Grand Central

Chapter 2: Welcome to Grand Central

#

Grand Central

Time indeterminable

Parallel 000

#

Your name is Faith Winters, at least that is what they tell you, and a moment ago you were about die at the hands of a man you once called a friend. Or at least you think you did. Your memories are hazy, always have been. For many years you have been in search of your past and the people who took it from you. When you met the man called Victor Creed you thought you might have found a clue. Only Victor was not interested in providing clues and proceeded to tear out your throat.

Or he would have done so if someone hadn't stepped in to save your ass.

"Not that I'm not grateful," you tell the figure walking by your side, your voice holding very little in the way of gratitude and quite a bit of impatience, "but now that you've got me here, would you mind giving me a bit more than just 'come with me or die'? I mean, who are you? Where are we? Why did you save me?"

The figure by your side looks a bit like Willow Rosenburg, a girl you met recently during your brief stay in a town called Sunnydale. She was the best friend of that other Slayer, Buffy Summers, and you still can't quite understand why there are two of you. Everyone assumed that it happened when Buffy died briefly about a year earlier, but recent revelations regarding your past have rendered that explanation false.

You still remember very clearly how weird it was to see your own face in a photograph from 1942.

Pushing your thoughts back on track you keep looking at the Willow look-alike. You haven't had the chance to really get to know the red-headed girl, but you are quite certain that she is not nor was she ever made of crimson metal.

"I would prefer to wait with the 'why' until everyone has arrived," Willow tells you. "But to answer some of your other questions: My name is Willow 12 and I'm a magically-enabled quantum computer whose artificial personality was patterned after that of my creator, Willow Rosenburg."

That explanation goes a bit over your head, so you say "Uh, what?"

"And as to where we are," she continues, either oblivious to or not interested in your lack of comprehension, "we are at Grand Central, a space-station located near the point of universal collapse, stationary about one second before the end of the universe on a parallel where no sentient life ever came into being."

Again you say "What?"

"I'll give you the long version in a few minutes, Faith, I promise. But it's quite a bit and I would prefer to just tell it once."

You nod, still a bit lost. Looking around, you try to picture yourself on a space station. The corridor you are currently walking through certainly looks like it might hail from a set of Star Wars, all metal panels and the occasional bit of technological equipment. Your sense of direction is every bit as enhanced as the rest of your senses and you feel a slight curve to the floor, as if you were walking up a slope that just keeps getting steeper without making walking on it any harder.

"The stations is circular and spins around a central axis," Willow 12 says, as if guessing your thoughts. "I have the technology to provide artificial gravity where needed, but its much more effective to let inertia do most of the work."

Once again you simply nod. While you are not exactly a stupid person you are not a rocket scientist, either, and so you hope that the long version of things is going to make a bit more sense then the rest of what you have heard so far.

"You said 'when everyone has arrived'. Who else is coming? Anyone I know?" You mean that last part as a jest.

"I'm currently expecting four more guests, Faith, plus one other who is already here. And as to you knowing them, well, that is a far more interesting question than you might imagine. Let's just say you will find some of them rather familiar."

You huff. "Just once in a while I'd like for someone to make sense, you know? You are worse than that idiot Maverick with all his cryptic babble."

You keep walking, really having little choice in the matter. When Willow 12 came to offer you an alternative to death and you accepted, all the bridges behind you burned down. Not that there were too many bridges to begin with. For a woman who doesn't remember her past except for the last two to three years and has little in the way of friends there wasn't a whole lot to leave behind. You might have become close with Buffy and her little troop, given the chance, but fate had other plans.

The only thing you're a little pissed about is that you might never find out who you are now. Then again, had you died back there you would have died ignorant, too, so there really isn't anything to cry about, is there?

Finally the corridor ends and the two of you walk into a larger room that might as well be located in the Pentagon or somewhere similar, the walls decorated with viewing screens and computer panels. There is a conference table in the middle with seven chairs grouped around it, only one of which is currently occupied.

You frown when you recognize the occupant.

"Angel?"

Again, you haven't gotten as close to the inhabitants of Sunnydale as you might have liked, but you have little trouble recognizing the vampire with a soul. If nothing else Buffy really has a good taste when it comes to men, at least as far as their looks are concerned. Angel is looking mighty fine, especially dressed from head to toe in black leather.

When he turns his head toward you a chill runs down your spine. Somehow you get the feeling that this isn't the soul-filled king of brood you've been told so much about. He grins at you and your Slayer senses are ringing like air-raid sirens.

"Now things are starting to look up," he says, rising to his feet with the grace of a panther. "This place could really do with a few females of the non-metallic variant."

"Faith Winters," Willow 12 handles the introductions, "meet Angelus of Aurelius, hailing from parallel 016. Angelus, meet Faith, the Vampire Slayer from parallel 014."

A scowl appears on Angelus' handsome face. "A Slayer? Figures. First good-looking girl I meet in this place and she just happens to be a Slayer."

"What is going on here?" You snarl at Willow 12. "What's this parallel talk? And what are you doing bringing this ... thing here? He hasn't got a soul, has he? Did you uncurse him or what?"

"Soul?" Angelus asks, confused. "Honey, you really need to get your facts straight. Vampires and souls, not really happening. Didn't your Watcher teach you anything?"

He makes a few steps towards you, leering. "Maybe I should teach you some of those lessons myself."

He is just out of arm's reach when you thrust one of your hands forward, the muscle reflex almost automatic by now even though it's only been a few days since you found out about your little enhancements. There is a sharp pain as metal tears through your skin, but the brief hurting is worth it when you see the look on Angelus' face.

The tips of three eight-inch-long claws are hovering steadily just a hair's breath away from his face, the brief trickle of blood where they punched through the skin between your fingers already slowing as the wounds heal rapidly.

"Wow," he moves back a bit. "I didn't know Slayers came with extras."

"Surprise, surprise! I don't really know what these babies are made from, but I find they cut through vampire necks just fine. Want me to demonstrate?"

Angelus' face darkens and you get the distinct feeling that he doesn't like to be taunted. Also, from this close, you can see that the lower half of his face and his neck are covered with faint scar tissue, almost as if he was burned there a long time ago. Or maybe not so long ago, seeing as how vampires heal almost as fast as you do.

By now you are pretty sure that this man, if that word can be applied to a walking corpse, in front of you is not the man you have met in Sunnydale.

"I like it when they're feisty," Angelus growls at you, but there is no more humor in his voice. "Maybe I'll rip your hands off right along with those pig-stickers."

"I'd like to see you try, bastard!"

There is about a three-second interval where the very air between you seems to crackle with tension and you are not sure whether you should blink, wait, or attack. Then, without warning, you are suddenly pulled apart by some unseen force and crash into the nearest wall with an almost audible clank. You try to move, but your arms are pinned to the wall. On the other side of the room Angelus seems to have the same problem.

"As interesting as that would have been," a familiar voice says, "I doubt that a show of recklessness and abandon is the reason our host invited us here."

"Oh, great," Angelus groans. "First a Slayer, now a mage. This day just keeps getting better and better."

"Giles?" you ask.

Buffy's watcher walks in the door, dressed in some kind of black and blue suit (no tweed) and sporting the kind of haircut that manages to make him look distinguished instead of librarian. His hair is darker than you remember from just yesterday and he wears some kind of medallion around his neck. The pendant looks almost like some kind of eye.

"I'm sorry, young lady, but I'm afraid I don't ..."

"Okay, this is mighty strange," yet another familiar voice says. You manage to turn your head against whatever force is holding you against the wall and see a dark-haired boy enter the room.

"Xander? What is this? The Scooby Gang in the Twilight Zone?"

Xander looks around, taking in Giles, Angelus, and yourself, as well as Willow 12 and .. Willow 12 ... and Willow 12? You notice that there are three of them in the room right now, each having accompanied one of this strange troop inside.

"Faith with claws," Xander mumbles, "Giles with the major magical mojo, deadboy with his evil vibes on, and Willow times three in crimson metal. I knew I shouldn't have gotten outta bed this morning."

"Before this deteriorates any further," Willow 12, one of them, says, "I should clarify a few things. First of all, though most of you may find the other people present to be familiar, let me assure you that none of you have ever met before. You are all from what we call different parallels, meaning alternate universes. The people you have met might be similar to the ones here, but they are the product of different worlds, different chains of events. So I hope whatever grudges you might hold can be put aside for the moment until I get around to telling you why we are all here."

After some tense moments a round of nods follows and the magic that holds you against the wall dissipates. With a sound like swords being pushed into their scabbards your claws withdraw into your hands and the open wounds between your fingers close almost instantly. Angelus, who has slipped into his demonic face sometime during your brief confrontation, reverts back to his human form.

"Thank you," Willow 12 says. "We have two more people coming in right now and I would ask you all to please just keep calm and let me handle all the introductions."

A moment later you see said people arrive, accompanied by another Willow 12, and by now you almost manage not to be surprised. One of them is Oz, Willow's boyfriend, or at least he looks like him. Except for the fact that he seems ... bigger, more massive. He also has an air of danger that the Oz you met in Sunnydale, despite being a werewolf, could never match.

The other person is Buffy.

For a long minute everyone just stares at each other and no stupid comments are made. Then Willow 12, one of the four now in the room, motions towards the chairs and after another minute everyone is seated. You watch in amazement as the four Willow 12's merge into one and sit down on the sole remaining chair at the head of the table.

"Allow me to make the first round of introductions now," she says. "Starting to my right, this is Buffy Anne Summers of parallel 009, formerly the Vampire Slayer of that universe, now an artificial life form like myself."

You frown, seeing as you get a definite supernatural vibe from Buffy. How can that be if she is some kind of machine? Then again, you're getting a magical vibe of Willow 12, too. Buffy sits in her chair and gives you the distinct impression that she is not happy with the current state of affairs. Her gaze keeps straying to Angelus, who has nothing but a leer for her in return.

"Continuing on, to Buffy's right we have Daniel 'Oz' Osborn from parallel 013. He is an artificially mutated werewolf."

Oz says nothing, just looks at the others present in silence. At least that hasn't changed much from the boy you knew briefly.

"Then we have Mr. Rupert Giles from parallel 022. He is that reality's Sorcerer Supreme, meaning that he's probably the most powerful mage you are ever likely to meet."

Giles just gives a nod, seeming composed and proper as an English gentleman should, but your enhanced senses can pick up a trace of nervousness coming off him. It might just be because he is sitting next to a soulless monster.

"To his right we have Angelus of parallel 016. He once was a vampire, now he is something ... worse, I guess you could say. You will get more details later. Suffice to say Angelus does not have a soul like the man many of you have known ..."

"What is it with that soul thing you keep talking about?" Angelus asks, interrupting.

"I will explain later, I promise. To continue our round, we have Alexander Harris, or Xander as he usually calls himself. Xander is an immortal from parallel 017."

"An immortal?" you ask, somewhat intrigued.

"Just what it says," he answers, giving you the barest of smirks. "No aging, no dying, and I can breathe underwater. Not sure where that last thing comes from, but it's kinda cool."

Willow 12 comes around to you. "This is Faith Winters, the Vampire Slayer of parallel 014. She has also received some enhancements sometime in her past, as some of you have already witnessed."

"Those claws must come in handy sometimes," Xander says. "A lot more practical than a sword."

You raise an eyebrow in question, but Willow 12 continues on. "Finally, myself. I am a magically-enabled quantum computer, first activated on parallel 006. My artificial personality was patterned after my creator, Willow Rosenburg, a woman some of you have known in your own worlds. I take her form for occasions such as this, but basically I'm a computer and I also make up the largest part of the station you currently find yourself on."

Everyone looks around, the idea of being in the belly of a giant sentient computer as unappealing to many of them, you are sure, as it is to you.

"Okay, now that we all know where we are," Angelus says, leaning back with his feet on the table, "mind telling us why?"

"Maybe you could first tell us whose brilliant idea it was to invite a soulless killer to this little chat?" Xander glares at him. You manage to spot the handle of a sword briefly visible beneath his coat. You doubt it's ornamental.

"It certainly wasn't mine," Buffy mutters, still looking pissed. From the kinds of daggers she is shooting with her eyes you guess that this Buffy, whatever world she comes from, was as hung up on her Angel-boytoy as your own world's was. Having a soulless variant of him here can't be doing much for her.

"Each and ever one of you has been selected for a reason," Willow 12 states, "as will become apparent once I explain why you are here. As I warned some of you, this story will be a bit longer and requires some background information. So please make yourself comfortable. Refreshments will be provided in a moment."

You manage not to flinch when the floor beside you opens up like a lid and some kind of arm telescopes up, offering you a glass of ... lemonade? Okay, you have no idea what your favorite drink is, given that you don't remember most of your life, but lemonade? Shrugging, you try a sip and find it to be quite pleasant.

A side glance shows you that Angelus has received a glass of blood and Oz is sipping from something that looks like herbal tea. Giles has got mineral water, Xander drinks some kind of beer, and neither Buffy nor Willow 12 are having anything.

"Okay," your crimson hostess finally says. "You're probably wondering why I called you all here today."

"Everyone's a comedian," Xander mumbles under his breath.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Get Together 3: Background Information

**Author's Note**: Elements of this chapter are copyright DC Comics Inc. and NBC & Adam Sorkin respectively. No infringement is intended.

And to answer some of the questions posed with the reviews:  
**Evilauthor**: You wrote a story like this one, too? I need to check that one out. I hope I'm not copying anything you already wrote? Anyway, I know I have two Marvel-influenced characters already, but as you will learn there is some DC in there, too (see this chapter for example). I plan to go all out in this, so expect to see quite a few guest stars from all sorts of different fandoms.

**Slincoln**: Is Xander an immortal that often? I'll be the first to admit I don't read much Xander-centric fic. Most of the Highlander x-overs I've read had Buffy as the immortal.

**Dlgood**: While I may introduce some more Highlander elements over time, the Gathering will not be one of the major plot points of this story.

I think that's it question-wise. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and I hope you enjoy.

One more thing: I made a title picture for this story, showing my version of the Scooby Gang. Check out my site shadow-dancing.com to see it.

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Chapter 3: Background Information

#

Grand Central

Time indeterminable

Parallel 000

#

Your name is Angelus, which means the one with the angelic face. It is a name given to you by your creator, the vampire Darla, and you have worn it ever since that night back in 1753 when you were born. The human being you were before is of no consequence anymore, never has been.

For the longest part of your life you have been a vampire, one of the most sadistic and cruel of your kind. Like no other you enjoyed the suffering of human beings, relished torturing them until they begged for death. In your own mind you were an artist, turning the animalistic necessity of drinking human blood into a feast of suffering and agony. You thought you had reached the top of the food chain.

You were wrong. As Willow 12 said, you are now something worse than a vampire.

Even as you listen to the machine prattle on your eyes are always moving, taking in the people seated around the table. Clearly Willow 12 has selected a very unique group of individuals for whatever she intends to accomplish. Many of them seem to be familiar with one another, or at least with the people they were in their various universes. You are not an idiot, you understand the concept of alternate realities. Still, you are not quite comfortable with the fact that so many of the people present here today seem to be familiar with you, any version of you, while you know nothing about them in turn.

Thankfully you have a lot of experience in measuring people with a glance. The man to your left, Rupert Giles, the Sorcerer Supreme, gives an outward air of regality and confidence. The latter is certainly not based on arrogance, not solely anyway, as you can almost feel the power flowing around him. Over the years you have met a lot of mages and none of them made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like this man does.

For all that power and apparent confidence, though, you can see him fidget. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there. Something has happened, something has damaged that calm demeanor and self-confidence. Something very recent. Probably whatever would have killed him if not for Willow 12's intervention. There is an open wound there somewhere, just waiting to be exploited. You'll just need a little more information.

The blonde woman to Willow 12's right keeps glaring daggers at you. True to form you smile back at her in a way that clearly demonstrates what you would like to do with (and to) her. She is pretty enough and you always had a thing for little blondes, but who in their right mind would call themselves Buffy? From the anger you see smoldering in her eyes you guess that she knew another you. That whole talk about souls doesn't quite make sense to you yet, but you've gotten the impression that the Angelus she knew was a do-gooder. Disgusting! Still, if she had a thing for an alternate you that is a definite opening. Also, she seems quite pissed at Willow 12 for bringing you in instead of some other version. Another fact to keep in mind.

The two boys, Xander and Daniel, are not much of a challenge to figure out. Daniel broods, wrapped in his own misery. If he's a werewolf, whatever a mutated werewolf might be, that's not a big surprise. In your experience there are only two kinds of werewolves. Those that revel in the savagery of their alter ego and those who are deeply shamed by it. This boy certainly falls into the latter category. The wolf has done something, something terrible, and Daniel feels guilty for it. An introverted guy, you haven't heard him say more than two words so far, if that many.

Xander gives the outward impression of a happy-go-lucky guy. What little he has said have mostly been smart-ass comments. His eyes speak a different language, though. They speak of pain. Given that he is an immortal you guess that it's the pain of living while everyone around you dies. You know that kind of pain. Not from personal experience, of course, given that you've never cared about anyone but yourself, but you have inflicted it on others quite a few times.

Most interesting of the bunch to you, though, is the claw girl, Faith. She is slouched in her seat like a high-schooler during a boring lecture, but you can almost feel the violence boiling just underneath her skin, waiting to explode at a moment's notice. It excites you. One of her hands, which shows no more traces of the wounds inflicted by those metal claws extending from them, plays with a chain around her neck. There are dog tags there. She doesn't look old enough to have been in the military, but no one knows better than you how deceiving looks can be. The name on the dog tags reads Faith, just Faith. The way she keeps playing with them makes you ponder their significance.

"Let me start by giving you a brief overview of the state of existence, so to speak." The machine finally stops the pleasantries and you lean back, interested to finally get to the bottom of things.

"Creation is divided into a nearly infinite number of alternate dimensions, or parallels. Every time a decision is made new parallels are created, playing out the different alternatives. Most of you have probably heard theories about that in one way or another. In one world a man decides to cross the street and gets run down by a car, in another world he stops in time and goes on to become a famous world leader or something.

"You, all of you, are from different worlds. Different chains of events have created you. Each of you has a multitude of doppelgangers across the multiverse. Some are almost completely identical to you, some are very different. Every possible version of history you can imagine exists, plus quite a few beyond anyone's imagination."

"So what's wrong?" Xander asks. When everyone looks at him, he adds, "there is always something wrong, otherwise you wouldn't have brought us here."

Kid's got a point, you concede that much.

"Xander is right, I'm afraid, there is something wrong. Something happened recently, figuratively speaking. Time is an extremely volatile variable in this kind of work, you will find. Anyway, what happened is this: A chain of events in parallel 010 produced a creature of immense power at the cost of all life in that dimension, leaving said creature insane with grief. The details are not that important and would take much too long. What's important is that this creature tried to undo what it had done and change history for the better."

"That would be impossible, wouldn't it?" the sorcerer asks. "If I understand the implications of a multiverse correctly than the past can not be changed, seeing as all possible versions of it already exist."

"You are correct, Mr. Giles. Under normal circumstances the history of any single parallel cannot be changed and an attempt to do so would, at best, only result in a crossover to the parallel where this changed version of history is already reality. Unfortunately these weren't even remotely normal circumstances."

A holographic picture appears above the conference table. Quite an impressive display of technology, you find. Then again, you were around when the first light bulb was invented, so you have learned to take these things in stride.

"All the parallels emerge from a single source," Willow 12 says, gesturing toward a stylized representation of the multiverse, looking like a tree with an enormous number of branches. "This source is, for lack of a better word, the Big Bang, the creation of space and time. The parallels diverge only later when life starts to emerge. This parallel we are currently on is actually one of the first variants to be created. The accident that was the emergence of life never happened and so no further parallels diverged from here. We are on a dead branch, so to speak.

"That point," she gestures at the root of the tree, "is the one spot in the multiverse where history can be changed, seeing as all parallels are still one there."

"So our big bad tried messing with the whole universe from there?" Faith asks, massaging her knuckles. Her face clearly tells that she considers the scope of what you are being told so ridiculously grand that she might as well be hearing a fictional story. "What happened?"

"She was stopped," Buffy says, though the tone of her voice doesn't exactly scream 'triumph' at you. Your eyes narrowing, you study her and see the pain and regret her body is positively humming with. She was part of whatever battle took place and it wasn't a pleasant experience for her.

You also note that she used 'she' to describe the entity that Willow 12 only referred to as 'creature'.

"The instigator of this crisis was indeed stopped," Willow 12 continues, "but not before causing quite a bit of damage, I'm afraid. A number of parallels were obliterated, entire universes wiped out."

You simply raise an eyebrow while other people around the table gasped. Entire universes destroyed? That's quite a few lives extinguished. You have tallied quite a bodycount over the years, but this is way out of your class. Whoever did this must have been quite a heavyweight.

"Forgive me, Willow," Rupert Giles interrupts, "but if the instigator of this catastrophe has already been stopped, then why are we here?"

"That's what we'd all like to know," you add, just to remind everyone of your presence. You get the feeling that most of them have been doing their best to ignore you. Buffy flinches slightly at the sound of your voice. Rupert, whom you are sure senses what kind of power flows in your veins and is weary of it, almost manages to remain impassive. Xander glares at you, his eyes speaking of old animosity. Faith stops playing with her dog tags for a moment, flexing her hands. The only one not showing any reaction is Daniel.

"I am getting to that part right now. In order to stop the instigator of the crisis I recruited some help from several different parallels. Many of them died, but those that survived I returned to their home dimensions. Through them and various other means it has come to my attention, though, that the destruction of various parallels is not the only damage left behind by that crisis."

The hologram changes, now showing two individual strands on the stylized decision tree.

"The destruction of parallels has destabilized the entire multiversal construct, like a house of cards were several cards were removed. This has lead to a phenomenon that I like to call a convergence. Two or more parallels briefly overlap, occupying the same space at the same time. In some cases the results have been catastrophic."

Images flicker over the table. You watch as two planets that look exactly identical suddenly interface, destroying each other in a violent eruption of energy. Cities seem to shimmer as buildings appear and disappear, people walking the streets scream in surprise when faced with doppelgangers that fade a moment later. 

"These are but a few impressions of the chaos that's been left in this crisis' wake."

"Not to sell myself short," Faith interjects, "but what the fuck do you think the likes of us can do against colliding planets? I'm usually more the smash-type myself."

"There is very little anyone can do against cosmic phenomena of this kind, Faith. There are other factors at work, though, ones that are happening on a more accessible level. Let me give you an example."

The holographic screen flickers again and the face of a middle-aged man appears. A moment later a second face appears beside it, almost identical except for the haircut and some wrinkles.

"Hey, I know that guy," Xander gets up from his seat. "That's Mayor Richard Wilkins."

"Friend of yours?" you ask with a smirk, fully aware that a reaction like that does not speak of friendly terms.

"The one on the right," Willow 12 continues before Xander can give some kind of retort, "is indeed Richard Wilkins, although not the one from your parallel. Just like the man you knew, though, this man has practiced sorcery all his life and intended to ascend into a greater demon, a goal he would ultimately have succeeded in.

"The one on the left, on the other hand, is Roger Tribby. He is the secretary of agriculture to the US government in the year 2000 AD on parallel 047. Tribby is a good man, or as good a man as a politician can be, and, incidentally, the grandson of a Richard Wilkins who never heard of sorcery and certainly never tried to become a demon."

"So what's the problem then?"

Willow 12 gestures and the earlier picture of two parallel dimensions returns, though now the two strands are intersecting.

"During the crisis parallel 047, home dimension of Roger Tribby, briefly converged with parallel 041, which is where Richard Wilkins hails from. The two dimensions are completely different. In 047 there never were any demons inhabiting the Earth and magic, while present, is a much less potent force than it is on 041 for example. Unfortunately during the crisis some things crossed over, including the esteemed Richard Wilkins. The convergence is over now, but Wilkins remains on 047."

"Not a good thing, I imagine?" Rupert asks, looking concerned. You consider brushing your leg against his just to see him jump.

"Definitely not, and for two different reasons at that. First of all there is this little thing called conservation of mass and energy. Richard Wilkins has been added to a closed system where all matter and energy is divided and accounted for. His very presence is going to cause disruptions, but those are the minor issue. The major one is that he is going to change the history of this parallel."

"Let me guess." Buffy looks away from you and studies the images on the holographic screen. You get the feeling that she, too, has met this Richard Wilkins and hasn't got too many fond memories of him. "He plans to do his Ascension thing on this parallel, too."

"Yes. To start things off he will kill and replace Roger Tribby. Then he will arrange for the rest of the US government to be assassinated, leaving himself in the position to assume the presidency. If left unopposed he will plunge the Earth into war and summon demonic forces into a world where there are absolutely no defenses against such powers. That alone would be bad enough, but such a violent change of that parallel's history will cause further disruptions of the multiverse, leading to further convergences, leading to more disruptions ... you see where I'm going with this?"

Everyone nods except for you. It is becoming increasingly clear that every single person present in this room is a do-gooder of some kind, though some of them might resent that notion. You, on the other hand, ...

"So I take it you gathered this little all-star team here to travel to that other parallel and show Mr. Wilkins the error of his ways?" you speculate.

Willow 12 nods. "Essentially, yes. As I said earlier, though, this is but one example. There have been other convergences, people or things crossing over from one parallel to another. In some cases entire histories have already been changed irrevocably. If this is allowed to continue unchecked it is only a matter of time, figuratively speaking, until the entire multiverse drowns in chaos."

"So?" you ask.

"I believe you don't quite grasp the severity of this situation," Rupert says, giving you a stern glare.

"Oh, I do, Rupert. Believe me, I do. I just have a hard time caring. See, as much as I like having a functional universe to exist in, I am really not that concerned with saving lives and making the world a safer place. Which I'm sure our little digital host knew beforehand. Which brings me around to one question." You look at Willow 12. "Why me?"

"I'd like an answer to that one myself," Xander adds. Consenting murmurs are heard from around the table.

"Two reasons," Willow 12 says, her face growing visibly darker. "First, because I believe that we will need the particular talents of this version of Angelus. And second ..."

She walks around the table until she stands right next to you. Is it you or has she grown bigger during those few steps? Yes, definitely bigger and more menacing than a second ago.

"If you don't play ball, Angelus, I will put you back at the exact time and place I took you from and you will burn to ashes. Is that enough of a reason for you?"

Anger bubbles up inside you, causing your face to lose its human aspect. The damn machine has you by the balls and you know it, but you don't have to like it. 

If it wasn't for that bastard John Constantine you would never have ended up in a situation like this. Then again, if you hadn't met him you'd still be a lowly vampire. There are pros and cons to everything.

So, having to choose between playing ball for a while and dying at the hands (or fiery breath, rather) of a particularly nasty demon called Etrigan ...

"I'll play," you growl, slipping back into human face. You are not such a drama queen that you feel the need to add 'for now', but you are certain that your host understands that part as well.

"Why the rest of us?" Daniel asks, startling everyone. You think these are actually the first words he has spoken since coming here.

"What do you mean?" Willow 12 asks.

"You have an entire multiverse to choose from. Why the six of us?"

The machine walks back to the head of the table, shrinking down to somewhat human proportions once again. You amuse yourself with a little fantasy of tearing out her mechanical guts piece by piece.

"Well, first off, it's a bad idea to put several versions of the same being in one place at the same time for any length of time. It leads to the same kind of disruptions these convergences cause. We didn't know that during the crisis and our having two or more versions of the same people gathered together might actually have made things worse. Since I fear this mission will run for quite some time it was therefore impossible to recruit, for example, a hundred different Buffys or Faiths or Angels. I could only pick one of each."

"Still, why stop at six people?" Faith asks. "Even if take just one of each and stick to people about to croak, you could still recruit an entire army."

"I don't need an army, Faith. I need a small group of capable people. You will be entering different parallels and your presence there will also cause disruptions just like any other foreign body. The less there are of you the better. And before you ask, I selected each of you because I think you are able to handle whatever you might encounter out there. Consider it a compliment."

"Just one final question," Xander says, raising his hand as if you were in school. "Why wait until we were about to die? I can understand it with deadboy over there, but don't you think that, given what's at stake, the rest of us might have agreed to come even if our imminent deaths weren't an issue?"

"It wasn't that, Xander. I certainly don't intend to blackmail the rest of you. I am somewhat restricted in what I can do, though, since I don't intend to cause further damage while trying to clean up the old. Taking you out of your worlds while you were still ... active, for lack of a better word ... would have caused a change of history and just as much damage as, for example, Richard Wilkins is about to do on parallel 047. I needed to take you at the end of your lifespans on your respective parallel, when your disappearance wouldn't cause any further changes."

You look around, taking in the mood of the others. Do-gooders, just like you figured. Still, even given that, none of them are too thrilled knowing that, right now, each and every one of them should be dead and gone and can never go back without wrecking their home dimensions. You take a little bit of pleasure from their misery. Just a little.

"What you have to understand," Buffy says, looking somber, "is that your old lives are over. There is nothing for you to go back to. Believe me, I tried." 

She tried? Tried and failed? Interesting. You file that information away for later use.

For a minute or so there is silence in the room, everyone trying to come to terms with what she just said. You, though, you are getting kind of edgy. It's not a state of mind you find yourself in often, seeing as you can be almost infinitely patient when it suits you. It's not been a good day for you, though. Right now you need to work out some frustrations.

"I believe you said something about killing someone," you say, shattering the mood. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd like to work a few kinks out."

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Get Together 4: Leaders and Followers

**Author's Note**: For those interested in reading more details on the origins of Buffy and Anne (summarized in this chapter) check out my story "The Slayer 314 Project". This chapter represents the end of the first story-arc, titled "The Get-Together". The next arc, presumably about four chapters long as well, will be called "Power Politics" and play in the West Wing world.  
  
Oh, and Harry2? More details about Faith's past and her connection (if any) to Logan will be unveiled in time. You'll just have to stay tuned. Thanks for reviewing, everyone. Keep it up!  
  


Enjoy!

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Chapter 4: Leaders & Followers  
  


#  
  


Grand Central  
Time indeterminable

Parallel 000  
  


#  
  


**Internal system's diagnosis complete. Displaying results:  
- Internal power sources operating at 100% efficiency  
- Gyroscope operating within defined parameters  
- Motor Control operating within defined parameters  
- Promethean Metal operating grid integrity at 100%  
- Data base integrity at 100%  
- Primary Personality Matrix integrity at 86%  
- Secondary Personality Matrix integrity at 100%  
  
Display diagnosis details on Primary Personality Matrix  
Please wait ... Displaying diagnosis details:  
  
Primary Personality Matrix integrity compromised due to agitation of Primary Personality, designation: Buffy Summers. Stress factor above safety limits. Combat subroutines online and standing by.  
  
Displaying threat parameters:  
Outside threat parameters: Green. Subject: Angelus not currently in scanning range. No other hostile presences detected.  
Internal threat parameters: Yellow. Integrity of Primary Personality Matrix comprises possible risk to continued operation.  
Option: Emergency Response Program. Upload Secondary Personality, designation: Anne, into Emergency Response Grid? Y/N  
  
Waiting ...  
  
Emergency Response Program aborted**.

Your name is Anne, at least that is what you call yourself. Your creators gave you a serial number and the designation Adam One, but you don't like either of those. Your current name was given to you by the woman you share a body with, her own second name to be exact. Seeing as your own personality is patterned after hers that name fits like a glove.

Most of the times the sharing of a single body between the two of you goes smoothly. You have had a long time to get used to it. There are times, though, such as the present, when it presents some problems. Even though your own personality is a copy of Buffy's you do have different opinions about some things.

Also, you like to think that you are not as stubborn as the former Vampire Slayer.

Despite your near-human characteristics you are a computer program and, as such, you are quite capable of handling several different tasks at once. Even as you listen to the conversation (a polite word for something very close to a shouting match) between Buffy and the living quantum computer Willow 12 your internal systems are routinely reviewing recent events in order to predict what might come next and how to handle it.

It is more or less the equivalent of a human thinking: "How the hell did I wind up in a mess like this and how do I get out of it?"

Memory data flashes through your processors with speeds no computer except Willow 12 could possibly match. Decades of life experiences compress into a single stream of data and analyzing subroutines go over everything, working out patterns.

Your own life began in a flash of agony, an explosion of fire and pain. Adam One, as your name should have been, was meant to be the ultimate fighting machine. A perfect warrior, created from an unholy fusion of magic and technology and given the memories, experiences, and fighting skills of the world's greatest supernatural warrior, the Slayer. Only things didn't quite turn out the way her creators, a group called the Initiative, had planned.

Buffy Summers, the Slayer, died in the same fires that heralded your birth, but her mind survived, downloaded into your mainframe during the accident. Ever since then you have shared a body, for better or worse. A body that won't age and, as far as your experience goes, is practically indestructible.

None of which helped you even a bit when the same crisis that Willow 12 now wants to clean up after destroyed your home dimension. In the blink of eye you and Buffy lost everything. Your world, your friends, your family, even the man Buffy loved and planned to spend eternity with, Angel. All gone. You survived through sheer chance, an odd interaction between your own unique nature and a probe Willow 12 had sent to investigate the destruction of yet another parallel. It brought you to the dubious safety of a parallel world, one where you saw all the people you had lost, only they weren't the same people.

Driven by Buffy's (and your own) need for revenge you joined the battle at the beginning of time, only to learn that it was another version of Buffy Summers herself who had caused all this mayhem and destruction. In order to defeat her you had to interface with her, use the same technology that had originally sucked the mind of your world's Buffy Summers into your indestructible shell, and you learned of all the horrors she'd had to endure. Not an experience you would like to repeat anytime soon.

When everything was done you hoped to start a new life elsewhere. After some travels you found a world where a window of opportunity opened up. That world's Buffy Summers died, gave her life to defeat the mad god Glorificus. Buffy, your Buffy, took her place, inserting the two of you into a world that was somewhat familiar. You hoped to pick up your life there, to find a place for yourself.

Only it quickly became obvious that this was not to be. As Willow 12 told the assembled team only an hour ago, an object from one parallel can not safely be inserted into a different parallel for any length of time. Differences in quantum frequency began to play havoc with the local space-time continuum after but a few weeks of your staying there. The barriers between the dimensions, weakened both by the crisis and events on that parallel itself, were starting to and buckle and crack.

In the end you had no other choice but to leave. Then the realization started to sink in. The simple fact that, with your own parallel destroyed, you would never again be able to call some place home.

All these memories took you but a moment to sift through and, all the while, you kept listening to the barely civil conversation between Buffy and Willow 12.

"This is the worst idea you ever had," Buffy growls at the living computer. "And that is saying a lot, considering all the ways you already messed up."

"I have told you my reasons," Willow 12 replies evenly. You automatically cross-reference your memory files, displaying the reasons you have been given. Regarded from a purely logical point of view they are sound. It has been quite some time, though, since you have been able to think and act in a purely logical manner. Come to think of it, you have never been able to do so. Computer program or not, the mind you are patterned after has made too deep an impression on you for that to be possible.

"A nearly infinite number of parallel worlds to choose from," Buffy continues, oblivious to Willow 12's attempts at civility, "and you just have to choose one where Angel was never cursed to begin with. You bring Angelus here, the most vicious killer ever. Not only that, you choose one who is ten times as powerful as the standard model. Believe me, girlfriend, none of your reasons help make sense of that."

Willow 12 sighs, or gives a pretty good impression of doing so. You remember a time not too long ago when the quantum computer was only capable of appearing human as a holographic image. That was, of course, before you gave her a sample of the magical metal your body is made from. While Willow 12 hasn't been able to reproduce all the unique characteristics of your form (a state of affairs you can't help but feel a little smug about), she has managed to build herself quite a capable simulacrum. 

The similarities between the two of you, two living machines patterned after people who were best friends, has not been lost on either of you. It has made working together on this new venture pretty easy so far. At least until Willow 12 made her choice which version of Angel to bring into this team they were building. A choice she did not consult Buffy or you on.

"You know as well as I do, Buffy," Willow 12 says softly, "that this job we want to do here is not going to be pretty. Odds are it's going to be downright evil at times. We need someone to do handle the dirty parts of it."

"We can do that ourselves," Buffy huffs. Being as close as you are, though, you know she is not really certain about that part.

"Really?" Willow 12 asks, calling her on it. "Tell me, Buffy! If the only way to save a parallel from collapse is to summarily execute a hundred innocent people, could you do it? Or would you ask any of the others to do it?"

She walks closer, laying one crimson metal hand on your shoulder.

"I know you, Buffy, and I know Anne. You both, together, are one of the most powerful and capable entities in all possible worlds. There is no one I'd rather have as field leader of this team. But there are some things you simply can't do. Or maybe you can do them, but you will destroy yourself in the process. Neither of which is acceptable to me."

Buffy looks down and your thoughts begin to mesh with her in quiet conversation

***She is right, Buffy.***

***This is just like you to take her side. Is this some kind of computer solidarity?***

***Stop being stupid, okay? You know better than that.***

***I know him, Anne, and so should you. You have all my memories.***

***Yes, I know that he will betray us first chance he gets. But since we know that, we can be prepared for it. Besides, we might need his power on our side, especially if a case like the one Willow 12 just mentioned should ever come up.***

***I just ... I don't know whether I can handle this, you know? It's only been a few months since I lost Angel, then the whole thing with the new life we tried to build, and now ... now I'm going to see him every day for who knows how long, but it's not him.***

***You can handle it, Buffy. I know you can. You are strong. I should know that.***

Buffy gives you a reluctant nod of consent, but retreats to the back of your shared consciousness with a huff. You know how she gets when she is in this kind of mood. It's one of the drawbacks of your shared existence. Buffy has fallen into the habit of pushing you into the driver's seat when she doesn't like the way things go. Sometimes you worry about that, as it can't exactly be healthy for Buffy's state of mind. Seeing as at least two of the many minds with whose characteristics you have been programmed were trained in psychology, you are almost sure of it.

The magical metal of your face ripples and changes as you assume control, something you almost did a few minutes ago in order to stop the shouting, but decided against. Now the face of your shared body changes, adapting the ones copied from Buffy's original flesh-and-blood body until they were subtly but notably different.

"We don't like it, Willow," you tell your friend, "but we'll trust your judgment in this matter."

"And fully reserve the right to tell me 'I told you so' if things go wrong?"

"Of course. Did you expect anything else?"

Willow 12 just nods. It's true that you and her have become better friends than Buffy and her. You don't know whether that is because you both started out as 'mere' machines. Maybe it's simply because neither of you has anyone else with whom you can hold super-fast, highly complex conversations. Buffy's mind might be housed inside a computer these days, but her thought processes were still human and, from your point of view, rather slow.

"So what do you think of our other recruits, now that we have met them in person?"

You think over that question, data streams connecting inside your mind, gathering all the relevant information together.

"All of them are powerful, that much is for sure. I have a hard time figuring out Faith and Giles, but the former might just be because she has so little clue about herself. Superficially she's the same brash young woman I knew, but that's just a mask she wears. Also, I did some analysis of her body. I doubt she is as young as she appears. And Giles ... well, he is very different from the man I knew, and not just because of his power levels. I think being betrayed by his disciple really damaged his confidence, though he is hiding it pretty well."

"He'll get over it. One doesn't become Sorcerer Supreme by being a wimp. He just needs time."

"Oz might be a problem. He hates what he is. In a combat situation he might hesitate before deploying his full strength."

"And Xander?"

"He might actually be the most level-headed of this team, which is kind of ironic, I guess. He is 112 years old, so immaturity should no longer be an issue with him. If we let him I think he can become the heart of this team we're building. Also, having a few other immortals around to hang with might be good for him."

There is a moment of silence between the two of you before you speak it out loud.

"And then there is Angelus."

"Yes."

"Combat-wise I think he can be a tremendous asset. I'm just afraid that, even with you blackmailing him into cooperation, he will be a disrupting factor."

"That's a chance we'll just have to take."

Activating one of the holographic screens via radio-telepathy, you call up an image of Richard Wilkins and Roger Tribby.

"So I guess we'll start with this case, right?"

"Yes," Willow 12 nods at you. "I've currently mapped 17 different convergences we need to deal with. This one is one of the most harmless, at least at the moment, and I think it's a good way for our team to get their feet wet, so to speak."

The images of your teammates flicker through their processor once again and you almost manage to keep from cringing when Angelus' face appears. In the back of your mind you feel Buffy, still huffing.

"Are you certain we should take the whole team? The more foreign bodies enter a parallel, the quicker the disruptions begin. Besides, I don't think we'll need all our firepower to handle a yet-to-ascend Richard Wilkins. In my world Buffy beat him with arrows, two flame-throwers and some explosives and that was after he became a greater demon."

"On future missions we might reduce the number of participants to those absolutely essential, but as I said, I want this mission to be a kind of team-building exercise for everyone involved. That includes the two us, too."

You give her a wistful smile, thinking back to when the three of you started working this thing out. Willow 12, while capable of mobile operations due to the form you helped her make, is far better suited to a command & control function, providing information and keeping her eyes on the big picture. You and Buffy, on the other hand, are much better at getting your hands dirty. Buffy has led teams such as this before, but never quite with such an odd combination of individuals.

Saying that this is going to be interesting might just a tremendous understatement.

"Let us gather the troops then," you say with as much enthusiasm as you manage to muster. "It's off to work we go."

End Chapter 4

**NEXT: Swords, fangs, and claws in the West Wing**


	5. Power Politics 1: In This White House

Author's Note: All the characters from West Wing appearing in the next four chapters are copyright Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, and Warner Brothers. No infringement is intended. Some of the dialogue is taken directly from the episode "He Shall, From Time to Time". 

A brief summary of West Wing, for those not familiar with the show: The series tells of the trials of the Bartlet administration. Jed Bartlet is the president, a professor-type with a love of trivia and a sometimes queer sense of humor. He is also suffering from Multiple Sclerosis (MS), which he has hidden both from the public and his staff. His closest friend, confidant, and Chief of Staff is Leo McGarry, the hardest-working man in the White House. Leo is a recovering alcoholic and recently divorced. 

Their senior staff consists of Claudia-Jean Cregg, the press secretary, Joshua Lyman, the deputy Chief of Staff, Toby Ziegler, the Communications Director, and Sam Seaborn, the deputy Communications Director. At this point in the series they have been in office for roughly a year and prepare to deliver their second State of the Union address. Major problems are tensions between India and Pakistan, Republicans having found out about Leo's alcoholism, and the president's MS acting up.

**********************************************

Power Politics 1: In This White House

#

The White House  
Washington DC, USA  
January 10, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name is Joshua Lyman and you are the White House's Deputy Chief of Staff. You are responsible for over a thousand employees working here and, which is by far the greater responsibility, for the smooth running of the most powerful country in the world. Which is why you really have better things to do than what you are doing right now.

"I don't think it's being sorted in the mailroom. It's an invitation to the President to address Congress. I'm assuming it was hand-delivered." You pause as the person on the other side assures you that she will do her best. "Thank you."

Hanging up with a sigh, you look up when your assistant, Donna Moss, knocks at the door. 

"Yes?"

"Margaret came by."

"Yes."

You rise out of your chair, resolved to go down to the lobby yourself and kick the shit out of whatever guy managed to lose the invitation for the President. Some things you just have to do by yourself.

"She said Leo said to remind you, you need to pick a guy."

Leo McGarry, whose assistant Margaret is, is your boss, the White House Chief of Staff, and he is in a lot of trouble right now because some nosy reporters (no doubt aided by Republicans) have dug up things from his past he'd rather have forgotten. Not that Leo would ever allow anything like that to get in the way of his job.

"Right."

"She said you'd know what that means."

"Yeah."

"Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know what that means."

You sigh again. You really like Donna (maybe even a bit more than a boss should like his assistant, but you refuse to dwell on that point too much), but sometimes she can be a real pain in the ass. Especially on days like this.

"Someone from the line of succession is required to be absent from the State of the Union," you tell her, hoping that this will satisfy her curiosity. You should have known better, of course.

As you walk through the corridors you almost manage to tone out the conversation while still participating in it, a trick you picked up years ago. Maybe later you'll even remember what you talked about with her, but you wouldn't put any money on it.

"So who's it gonna be?" Donna asks once you have assured her that the assistant of the Deputy Chief of Staff is not part of the line of succession, no matter how many people might die because some terrorist or other decides to blow up the Hill with the entire cabinet inside.

"Roger Tribby."

"The secretary of agriculture?"

"Yes. Listen. Be sweet to Margaret and Leo today. This might not be the worst day of their lives, but it's got to be in the top five."

"Okay."

"See ya later."

You continue walking, thinking about the twenty high-priority things that need to be done by yesterday and aren't even close to being finished. With less than two days to go until the State of the Union, the president down with the flu, Leo about to be publicly spanked for being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict, and everything else that goes on in this building on any given day you don't anticipate to be out of here before midnight. You usually aren't.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lyman?"

You turn around, seeing a petit blonde woman walking toward you. She is dressed in a sharp suit and looks every bit the professional, but something about her bothers you. She seems ... out of place here. Maybe she's a Republican.

"Yes?"

"I'm Elizabeth Springer, assistant clerk from the Hill. I was supposed to deliver the invitation to the President to deliver the State of the Union, but I'm afraid I got kinda turned around in here. This place is huge."

You mentally check off one item on your humongous to-do list when you see the engraved envelope in her hand.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you got here at all."

She raises an eyebrow at you.

"Sorry, that didn't come out right. We're having a bit of a day here today. Come this way, please. I'm afraid the President is having a thing right now, but Leo can sign you for it."

Turning your back to lead her to Leo's office, you don't notice her looking around with a careful eye and, even if you had, you would have written it off to a junior clerk's awe at being in the White House for the first time.

Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine that the person walking behind you is actually an artificial life form forged from a mystical metal on a mission to save this entire universe you call home. Your imagination, while formidable when it comes to politics, doesn't reach quite that far.

#

"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

Your name is Sam Seaborn and you are the deputy communications director of the White House. Part of this job is to meet with all sorts of interest groups and weirdoes and that is exactly what you are doing right now.

"It is not a problem, Mr. Rutherford."

Truth to tell, were anyone to ask you, you would not be able to say why you made room for this particular appointment today, especially as your calendar is already overflowing. Your memories of how this meeting came to be are somewhat hazy. In fact the only thing you remember clearly is going through the lobby and being greeted by this gentleman whom you have led to your office now, but the moment you spotted him you just knew that you had an appointment with him. An important one.

Later on you will not be able to remember any details about this meeting, either.

You find nothing strange about any of this, though. You have met a lot of strange people since starting in this job, all of them one hundred percent convinced that their interests should be supported by the government to the exclusion of all else. You have met with people demanding to see the aliens the government keeps hidden in Fort Knox, people who think the maps should be redrawn so that south is on top and north at the bottom, and quite a few even stranger ones.

So you just talk with this man called George Rutherford and at no time are you aware that the gentleman in question is not in any way participating in your conversation. To be more precise he isn't even in the room with you except in a purely physical sense. His astral self is walking the White House at will, inspecting every corner and looking for a particularly malevolent presence.

The only thing you know about all this, though, is that you are in an important meeting and so you keep on talking. The only thing you find slightly strange is that pendant the man is wearing, shaped almost like an eye. At times you get the feeling the eye might actually be watching you.

#

Outside the home of Roger Tribby  
Washington DC, USA  
January 10, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name, back in the days when you were still a human being, was Leonard Johnson. These days most people just call you Lenny and that's it. Given the fact that you are a vampire you really don't have much use for a last name. None of the really famous vampires have last names, after all, and you intend to be famous one day.

Unfortunately for you it will never happen, but you don't know that yet.

These days you are still a relatively young vampire and your lot in life is to be minion to another. It's like being an employee, only with fewer benefits and no pay. Then again, most employees don't get to kill a lot of people and drink their blood every odd night or so. Being who you are, you consider that one a major perk.

The boss trusts you to handle this, so you want to make sure that everything is going as planned. Checking the piece of paper in your pocket you verify the address. Yes, this is the place. You motion to the three other guys with you, giving them the sign to start moving.

The secretary of agriculture, being a member of the cabinet and part of the line of succession, is entitled to Secret Service protection, but that pretty much consists of a single guy keeping watch from across the street. Agriculture isn't considered that dangerous a field. Taking him out wouldn't be much of a problem under normal circumstances, but you have been given very specific instructions. Under no circumstances must there be signs of foul-play.

You haven't been given a reason for that, but you do know what the boss does to people who mess up his plans. Therefore you will take great care to do everything exactly as you have been told.

It helps, of course, that this strange world you found yourself in about two weeks ago is very much different from the one you are familiar with. The boss tried to explain it to them, but the only thing you understood was that, due to the near-absence of magic in this world, many of the primary safeguards against vampires simply don't exist. No mystical barriers preventing you from entering private homes, crosses don't work, and no one seems to have heard of a Slayer here.

The sunlight still burns, which is a drag, but all things considered you are quite happy here.

The plan for tonight is simple. One of your team will deal with the Secret Service man, distracting him without killing or clueing him in that anything really happened this night. Meanwhile the rest of you will enter the home of Roger Tribby, carefully avoid his wife and kids, and grab the man himself, whisking him away without anyone the wiser.

You are more a fan of plans that go along the lines of 'kill everything in sight', but you are confident that you can handle this, too. How difficult can it be? Back home you would have to find a way to get invited inside; you might have to worry about the Slayer or the guy you're supposed to nap being some kind of magician or demon-in-disguise. Not here, though. This world, however you came to be here, is almost painfully boring. As a matter of fact you wouldn't mind seeing a little more action around here sometimes.

The thought has barely made its way through your brain when someone behind you coughs, drawing your attention.

"You guys are out pretty late," a young, dark-haired woman says. She is dressed in tight leather pants and wears a tube top that leaves little to the imagination. Her only acknowledgement of the January temperatures is a leather jacket worn loosely around her shoulders.

The boss said no signs foul-play, you muse, but you are pretty sure you can dispose of that tasty body in a way that will leave no visible connection to Roger Tribby. From the growling of your boys you figure they agree with you. Your primary target will still be there in a few minutes.

"I've got a bit of frustration to work out," the woman continues, walking towards you and cracking her knuckles, which produces an oddly metallic sound. "Who wants to be first?"

You are about to take a step forward when a sound from a nearby alley announces the arrival of yet another newcomer. It's the very distinct sound of a blade being drawn from a scabbard. A young man steps out of the shadows, sword in hand, giving them a smile.

"Room for two?" he asks, throwing a side glance at the woman.

Suddenly you are not feeling quite so confident anymore. There is something very off about these two. If you were back home you would almost think ... but no, there aren't any Slayers in this world. Certainly no male Slayers or anything.

"Take the guy," you motion to the two vampires on your left. "We'll take the chick."

Everything after that happens so fast you barely manage to take it all in. The 'chick' explodes into action, laying into both of you with punches that hit like jackhammers. Behind you the tell-tale sound of a vampire exploding into ash tells you all you need to know about the fate of your other team-members. Things are going seriously wrong and you haven't survived as long as you did by being stupid.

While the surviving two of your guys are keeping the newcomers busy you high-tail it out of there as fast as you can. Before you even reach the corner you hear another of your guys die, cursing your luck. This world was supposed to be safe for the undead. What is going on here?

You are two steps around the corner when you skid to a halt, not quite believing what you see in front of you.

"If you want to survive as a minion," the tall, dark vampire in front of you says, "the one thing you need in abundance is luck."

His face is illuminated by the street light and your blood runs even colder than it already is.

"Are you feeling lucky tonight?" Angelus asks, grinning from ear to ear.

"A-Angelus?" you manage, taking two steps back. You know this one, of course. Every vampire knows of him. The traitor. Once the most vicious of your kind, but now a lapdog of the humans, hunting and killing his own kind. How did he come here? Did he somehow switch worlds as well?

"You know me?" Angelus' grin grows even broader. "Of course you know me, silly question. Here's a good one, though: The me you know, soul or no soul?"

"W-what?"

"Come on, it's not that difficult a question. Soul or no soul? Do-gooder or evil bastard?"

Your mouth opens and closes, but you are quite certain that it produces nothing but meaningless sound. Angelus sighs and leans against the wall of the building.

"No, it's okay. I guess I know the answer. Damn it! What is it with all those doppelgangers of me getting themselves a soul? What's so great about having a soul and becoming a do-gooder? Can you tell me that?"

You manage to shake your head, even as a menacing growl from behind Angelus diverts your attention from the black-clad vampire. Something emerges from the shadows. Something huge.

"Yeah, I know," Angelus simply says, giving the monster appearing behind him but a single glance. "We're supposed to question them regarding Wilkins. So, where is Tricky Dick Wilkins?"

You realize the question is directed at you, but you are too busy taking in the newcomer. At first you think it's a werewolf, but if it is then it's the biggest damn werewolf you've ever seen. Walking barely upright, it still towers over Angelus. Spittle is dripping from its gaping maw and eyes the size of your fists are looking directly at you while a body that has to be a thousand pounds of solid muscle tenses in anticipation.

"Tell me or tell my friend here," Angelus remarks, pointing over his shoulder at the giant wolf.

"W-Wilkins? I know of n-no Wilkins. I w-work for Mr. Trick."

Angelus glares at you for a moment, but then shakes his head. "He's telling the truth. Not a smart move, buddy, but that's the way it is. I guess we really don't need you anymore."

The giant wolf takes a step forward and you prepare to run, no matter how futile it may be. You never get the chance, though. The last thing you hear is a sound coming from behind you, something that sounds like 'SNIKT'.

Then something sharp and cold cuts right through your neck and everything goes dark.

  
TO BE CONTINUED  


Note in closing: Sam actually met with people wanting to know about aliens in Fort Knox, though I think it was actually later in the series. The thing with the maps turned around happened to CJ, I think, but I found it funny, too. And for all those not familiar with the SNIKT sound, it's the sound effect always used in the comics when Wolverine unsheathes his claws.

I'm not sure whether I'll get another chapter done before Christmas. In case not, merry Christmas and happy holidays to all of you.  



	6. Power Politics 2: The Big Night

********************************************** 

Author's Note: This will be the final part this year, so a happy New Year to you all. Have a nice 'Rutsch', as we call it here in Germany, into the New Year. Again, some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from the West Wing episode "He Shall, From Time to Time".

**********************************************

Power Politics 2: The Big Night

#

The White House  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name is Buffy Anne Summers and, once upon a time, you were the Vampire Slayer. The one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to fight against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. Those days are long past, of course. They ended when your body died and your mind and soul were downloaded into a new form. Going from mortal girl to indestructible android was not an easy transition to make, but you managed. You always do. That's what it means to be you, doesn't it? Face whatever the world decides to throw your way and never stop smiling and quipping.

At least that's the way it used to be. As of late, though, you haven't exactly felt like smiling or quipping all that much. There are numerous reasons for that, far too many to rehash, but it is safe to say you are not a happy camper right now and you doubt that is going to change anytime soon.

Well, things could always be worse. Instead of being here in the White House you could be with Team B in the Congress building. Teamed up with the monster that wears your lover's face, yet is nothing like him. Nothing at all.

Yes, things could be worse. Odds are they soon will be.

"Oh, Roger, if anything happens, you know what to do, right?"

You look up, shaking off your gloomy thoughts. You are standing in a corner of the Oval Office, unseen by the other two people currently in the room. The Promethian metal that is your body has adapted to its surroundings, making you invisible both to the naked eye and the electronics keeping watch over the office of the most powerful man in the world.

President Josiah 'Jed' Bartlet. You have read up on him a bit. Well, not exactly. Anne did and fed the information directly into your brain, which wasn't that hard seeing as you are two minds sharing the same body. 

Things are different in this world then you remember from your own in this time. In your world, back in the year 2000, the president was still Bill Clinton, nearing the end of his second term. He would be replaced by George W. Bush and there are certainly better things to occupy your thoughts than his time in office.

In this America the Democrats are still in power and Jed Bartlet seems to be a decent man, if a little spineless when it comes to toughening it out against a Republican Congress. Still, he has a sort of charisma that almost forces people to like him. The secretary of agriculture, Roger Tribby, seems no exception to that rule.

When you first laid eyes upon him you almost struck out. His resemblance to Richard Wilkins is uncanny. In fact you had both Anne and Giles, who is also keeping watch somewhere in the White House, check him out just to be certain that Wilkins hasn't made the switch yet. This is still Roger Tribby, though, a perfectly normal human man. And that's how it's going to stay if you have anything to say about it.

"I honestly hadn't thought about it, sir," Tribby says, answering the president's earlier question of whether he'd be ready to take over the presidency, just in case.

"First thing always is national security," Bartlet tells him. "Get your commanders together. Appoint joint chiefs. Appoint a chairman. Take them to Defcon 4. Have the governors send emergency delegates to Washington. The assistant attorney general is gonna be the acting A.G. If he tells you he wants to bring out the National Guard, do what he tells you."

*He sure likes to talk a lot, doesn't he?* Anne quips. You know that she is trying to lighten you up a bit. She's been trying all week. So far she's had little luck.

*A bit like Giles,* you muse, trying to get into the spirit a little. *Our Giles, I mean. This new one we've got working with us hasn't really said much yet, has he?*

*He is still shaken from being betrayed. Give him time, I'm sure he'll be as scholarly as our Giles ever was.*

"You have a best friend?" Bartlet asks, stopping just short of the door.

"Yes, sir," Tribby answers, a bit confused by the question.

"Is he smarter than you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Would you trust him with your life?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's your chief of staff."

You can't help but smile at that. Your sensors have already picked up Leo McGarry, the chief of staff, in the next room, fully capable of hearing everything that was just said. You doubt the president has noticed. 

"Oh, in the residence, in the second floor, the bathroom at the end of the hall. You have to jiggle the handle a little."

A young black man enters and you recognize him as Charlie Young, the president's body man.

"Mr. President?"

Bartlet nods at him, then turns to Tribby one final time. "I got to go." He pauses. "You'll do fine. People have phenomenal capacity."

"Yes, sir."

He finally leaves, leaving Tribby alone in the Oval Office. The secretary of agriculture takes a moment to look around, then heads out through the glass doors, making his way toward the residence to watch the State of the Union on TV. Without a sound you follow him, unseen by the Secret Service men posted everywhere.

*Buffy? Anne? Can you hear me?*

It still weirds you out a bit that Giles, this strange and aloof version of Rupert Giles called the Sorcerer Supreme, has so little trouble projecting his own thoughts into your mind. You have gotten used to sharing your head, but not with more than one person at a time.

*Yes, we're here. Any sign of our special guest star?*

*The runes I've placed all over the White House have just been activated. Apparently someone used a fairly sophisticated teleportation spell to slip into the building undetected. Quite a nice piece of magic.*

*Well, if it is Wilkins than he's had a hundred years and change to practice. Do you know where he is?*

*Yes, I'm heading there right now.*

*Need our help?*

*I don't estimate so. You should keep your eye on Tribby, just in case this is a diversion or Wilkins has a back-up in place.*

*Okay. Give him hell, Giles. Just try and keep the White House intact, will you?*

*I will do my best.*

#

Inside the United States Congress  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name is Toby Ziegler and you are the White House communications director. You are in charge of the message around here. It's your job to make the president's agenda reach the people, make the approval ratings go up, and make sure that the State of the Union for which you have written the speech (along with Sam) goes off without a hitch.

It's not an easy job when the president is already ten minutes late. No doubt he felt the need to impart some last-minute wisdom on Roger Tribby or maybe the First Lady wanted to take his temperature one final time. You'll never understand why so much fuss is made over a simple fever. Okay, the president fainted, but it's not like he is about to die.

You won't find out about him having Multiple Sclerosis for another 16 months, so the notion that this simple fever might have been fatal to him never enters your mind.

Seeing as you are a perfectionist you know perfectly well that, given the opportunity, you will go over the speech for the thousandth time and maybe make some last-second corrections. It's unnecessary, though. The speech is great, everything will work out fine, and to keep yourself busy you prowl around the lobby, making sure all the White House employees present know you are in a foul mood already and it will only get worse with every second of further delay.

You could really use a cigar right now. Unfortunately some idiots decided that smoking is prohibited in all public buildings, so that's out the window.

Suddenly you catch a glimpse of someone slipping into the shadows from the corner of your eye. A figure in a black trench coat. When you turn to look, though, there is no one there. Maybe you just imagined things. Or maybe ...

"Is he here yet?"

You turn to look at CJ, somehow managing to look regal and without a care in the world despite being a bundle of nerves just like everyone else.

"Not yet."

"The Press is getting antsy. Someone is spreading a rumor that the president might be sick and the State of the Union will be delayed for a week."

"That is ..."

You were going to say 'nonsense', but a sharp beep from the metal detector at the lobby entrance catches both your attention. A young woman with a press ID clipped to her blouse has apparently set it off and Secret Service men are rushing toward her.

"Chill, guys," she says, raising her hands. "Metal implant in my hip. It's in my ID."

One Secret Service agent looks at said ID while another, a woman, searches the young brunette. She comes up empty, though, and gives a sign to proceed. You turn back to CJ, who is still looking at the young woman.

"What is it?"

"That girl is wearing a Press ID from the Post. I thought Julia was going to cover the State of the Union for them."

The woman stops, apparently having overheard, and turns to smile at CJ.

"I'm covering for Julie tonight, Ms. Cregg. She had a ... last-minute emergency. My name is Farrah. Farrah Winters."

The two women shake hands.

"Well, Farrah, maybe I'll see you in the White House press room one day," CJ remarks.

"I doubt it. I'm only pitching in tonight. I usually cover ... sports."

"Sports?"

"Yeah. Gotta go."

You look after her, something about her unnerving you. 

"That girl has a grip like a vise," CJ says, massaging her hand.

Well, if nothing else she has managed to make you forget all about the mysterious shadow you saw earlier. Moments later the woman is out of your mind as well as new Secret Service agents pour in through the door, heralding the arrival of the President.

"Here we go."

#

Outside the United States Congress  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name is Mr. Trick. It's not the name you were born with, of course, but you have learned that there is power in names and people will look upon you differently if you have a somewhat impressive moniker. If one were to ask you why you came up with Trick as a name you'd feign ignorance, maybe say that it just came to you. The actual reason, which you find a little too harmless to tell anyone among demonkind, is that, when your first victim saw you approach with your game face on, her final words were: "What kind of trick is this?"

It had seemed like a fun name at the time and then stuck.

But a little over a week ago you were in a different world, one that held many such as you. Demons of all kinds, dark magic, and people looking to keep humanity safe from both. This, though, is not such a world. No demons, only very little magic, and certainly no do-gooders looking to wipe out vampires for the betterment of all. You could learn to like this place.

Your employer is one of those people such as yourself who always keeps an eye on the big picture. Suddenly and inexplicably finding yourself in a new world with a new set of rules might have set back most people, but not Richard Wilkins. Being thwarted just a few months shy of fulfilling a 100-year-plan might have caused despair in lesser men, but not Richard Wilkins.

No, only a week after arriving here you are in the process of carrying out a coup such as no vampire has ever undertaken. By dawn tomorrow Richard Wilkins will be president of the most powerful country in the world and that will only be the beginning. The big picture is larger still. Being what you are in a world that has never before seen such as you, you estimate it will take a decade at best until the entire world is yours.

First thing first, though. Tonight your job is simple and enjoyable, yet still needs to be done with diligence and care. You look at the people you have assembled for this. Only half a dozen of your kin crossed over with you and Wilkins when you suddenly found yourself misplaced, but a lack of manpower is never more than a short-term problem for a vampire. Within the last week you and the others have sired nearly fifty minions. True, it's quantity over quality, but in a world such as this quantity will fully suffice.

There is one tiny thing nagging at your confidence. Yesterday Lenny and his guys were sent out to kidnap Roger Tribby, but they never returned and Tribby turned up at the White House without a hitch. Well, it won't be a problem. Wilkins will just make the switch himself and all will work out fine. Lenny and his guys probably took off to enjoy a world without vampire safeguards, to hell with their employers. You make a mental note to find and kill them for that later on.

"All right, boys," you tell them, your voice full of confidence. "The plan is simple. Enter that building, kill anything alive. Only one thing to keep in mind: No bite marks. If you feel the need for a drink, make sure to slash the throat later on so no trace of teeth remains. We want these good people to suspect terrorists, not vampires. Any questions?"

There are some growls and the air is heavy with anticipation, but no questions.

"Then by all means, boys. Let the feast begin!"

  
TO BE CONTINUED  



	7. Power Politics 3: Behind the Scenes

**********************************************  
  
**Author's Note**: I caught some flak in the reviews for that little spike against George "Burning" Bush, but I guess that was to be expected. Sorry, guys, but sometimes I can't resist the temptation. I'm not going to turn this into a discussion of politics (which could become very lengthy), so I promise that the remainder of this story will remain Bush-free, so to speak.  
  
And now, on with the show!  
  


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Power Politics 3: Behind the Scenes

#

The White House  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000  
  
Parallel 047

#

Your name is Richard Wilkins III, at least for the moment. Once upon a time you were Richard Wilkins II and, even earlier than that, Richard Wilkins I. People tend to get suspicious about men that don't submit to the ravages of time, so now and again you had to pretend to die and return as your own descendant. It's gotten pretty routine by now.

Soon your name will be Roger Tribby and, if all goes well tonight, you will also get to put a little honorific in front of that new name. President, to be precise. President of the most powerful country in the world. It might not be exactly the same as ascending into a greater demon in order to conquer the world by force, but it's almost as good. Besides, the whole conquering the world thing is just a matter of time.

When you first found yourself in this new world you were irate. A century of planning, all come to naught. Your Ascension was but months away and what little interference you had by that pesky Slayer and her friends was negligible at best. Suddenly and without warning, though, everything was taken from you. Or so you thought.

True, your plans have been ruined. True, this world you now live in does not contain the necessary metaphysical forces to complete your Ascension, at least not in the way you originally envisioned it. All things considered, though, things could be much worse. As it is you are the only man in this entire universe with a working knowledge of magic. Granted, magic is not the same potent force here that it was back home, but against a world filled with ignorant mundanes? It will suffice.

Case in point being your current whereabouts. The White House, seat of power of the American government. A simple teleportation spell brought you inside, right past all those laughable defenses. Back home you know that the government employs warlocks of its own and all major government installations are surrounded by runes to prevent such things from happening. Here, though? Nothing. The place is wide open and just begging for someone to take over.

Someone like you.

Checking your watch, you realize that Mr. Trick will be entering the Congress building right about now. Trick is a good employee, if a bit limited. All that talk about always seeing the big picture. Well, he does what he is told and he recognizes greatness when he sees it. That is more than can be said about most employees you have had over the decades.

You wonder what the headline will read tomorrow morning. Terrorists slaughter President? Bloodbath in Congress? Well, whatever colorful words will be used, you are quite certain that somewhere in those articles it will read "Roger Tribby, stricken by grief yet determined to serve his country, has been sworn in as the new president" or something along those lines. You have already practiced your speech for tomorrow. It contains just the right amount of sad words and encouragement this wonderful country will need to hear after such a terrible tragedy.

Tribby is in the residence, you can feel his presence there. It wasn't that hard to compose a tracking spell, seeing as the two of you are related, or as close to being related as two people from different universes can be. Your counterpart in this world, dead for many years now, was the grandfather of this chap. A pity, almost. You never had children in your own world. It might have been nice to take some time to get to know your descendant. Well, some things can't be helped. 

Making your way toward the residence, carefully avoiding detection by way of the magical cloak you wear, you are nevertheless suddenly confronted by the last person you expected to see in this world.

"Mr. Wilkins, I presume?" the newcomer asks.

"Mr. Giles? Well now, that is a surprise. I didn't think I'd meet you here."

The Slayer's Watcher looks different than the last time you saw him. No tweed, instead he is wearing an immaculate blue suit. No glasses to be found and his hair looks darker, almost as if he were ten years younger. Also there is something very strange about that amulet he wears around his neck. Shaped like an eye, it almost reminds you of ... no, that can't be possible, can it?

"Is that what I think it is?" you ask, seeing no reason not to engage in civil conversation before you kill the man. "The All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto? However did you get your hands on that little trinket, Mr. Giles?"

"It was given to me as something of a graduation gift, you might say. Also, I find it only fair to inform you that I am not the man you probably think I am, Mr. Wilkins."

You frown for a moment, then understanding lights up your face.

"Oh, I'm such an idiot. Of course. You must be the Rupert Giles of this world. How stupid of me. Tell me, how is it that an artifact like the Eye even exists in a world with so little magic?"

"You are mistaken, I'm afraid. I am every bit as much a stranger here as you are. Now maybe we can settle this matter like gentlemen."

You shake your head, amused. "Mr. Giles, please! Do not tell me you came here to stop me from improving this world! I would be so disappointed."

"Then I will have to live with your disappointment, I fear. A burden, surely, but I think I can carry it."

You raise an eyebrow, quite unaccustomed to someone keeping up with your conversational wit. Most people are either too scared of you to engage in this kind of civilized banter or too eager in their desire to see you defeated. It seems this Mr. Giles, whatever world he might come from, is neither one nor the other.

"Does it really have to come down to this, Mr. Giles? I detest violence. It is such an imperfect method of getting what you want."

"This from the man who just sent vampires to Congress to slaughter the entire cabinet? I think you jest, Mr. Wilkins."

"Oh, you know about that, too? Well, don't you want to be off then? Save a few lives? Be the hero for all these dusty politicians?"

"There is really no need for my involvement in that affair. A few friends of mine will take care of it, I'm sure."

"Friends? Mr. Giles, did you take your little Slayer along on this trip? Really, that is quite unfair, I think."

"Surely you no longer suffer from the illusion that the world, any world, is fair, Mr. Wilkins."

You sigh, nodding. "Yes, I'm afraid that illusion was very much ruined long ago. Right along with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Stork. The things we lose along the way."

"As fascinating a conversation as this is, Mr. Wilkins, I do believe we should get on with this, don't you?"

Checking your watch again, you can't help but agree. "Certainly. I wouldn't want to keep my descendant waiting. Well, not my descendant exactly, but you know what I mean, Mr. Giles."

"I know. Think nothing of it."

You almost regret having to kill him. You haven't had good conversation in quite some time.

"Well then. Shall we?"

#

Service tunnels beneath the United States Congress  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000  
  
Parallel 047

#

Your name is Alexander Harris (you hate your middle name, so you usually leave it out) and you have seen quite a few strange things. Being a member of the Scooby Gang was strange enough. Becoming an immortal and living for over a century while trying not to lose your head in the Game only piled more strangeness onto your life. But today can certainly compete with the strangest of days that you have experienced during your long life.

"Let's see," you mumble, speaking to yourself as you sometimes do to relieve the stress a bit. "I was taken from my own world a heartbeat before my scheduled death. I get teamed up with the Twilight Zone version of my old friends and our mission is to keep all of creation safe from the aftermath of some sort of omniversal crisis. We get sent to a world without demons and vampires, or so the ads say, only to face a horde of vampires intent on wiping out the US government while their immortal wizard boss tries to take over the Oval Office. And whom do I get as my tag team partners for this? Steelclaw-Faith, Big Bad Wolf Oz, and soulless deadboy on steroids."

You shake your head, smiling. Sometimes it is a miracle you manage to get through sentences like that without starting to cackle in pure disbelief and/or insanity.

Well, if nothing else the enhanced senses all three of your bad-ass comrades possess enabled you to easily pick up the cadaver stench of the vampires before they even came close to Congress. Unfortunately you didn't get there in time to save the two Secret Service agents guarding the service entrance. You know they weren't supposed to die. Neither were these unlucky chaps that Trick transformed into vampires. You can't help but wonder whether the damage done to this parallel might already be irreversible.

Fortunately the service tunnels down in the belly of the Congress building are empty now, everyone is upstairs to listen to the State of the Union. With a little luck you will be able to finish this without anyone else getting involved.

The four of you stand in the middle of the tunnel, facing a crowd of at least fifty vampires.

"What do you say?" you ask Faith, the only one of your current teammates who seems more or less like you remember her. "Twelve each?"

The metallic sound of your sword being drawn from its scabbard is accompanied by growls from the advancing vampires.

Faith chuckles. "I bet you I'll dust more than that, X-man!" With that strange SNIKT sound her claws emerge from her hands. Some of the vampires see them and hesitate, but then advance again.

"What about you, wolfy?" Faith asks, looking over at Oz. "Care to put your rep on the line, too?"

Oz says nothing. You don't remember your own Oz to have been a man of many words, but compared to this guy he was downright wordy. This Oz simply grimaces and then his human form starts to ripple and change. A heartbeat later an eight feet tall werewolf stands in its place, spittle dripping from its fangs. Now the vampires seem a bit reluctant.

You spare a final side glance for Angelus. No wisecracking with him. It's been a long time since you were scared of any of the monsters (one of the side benefits of being nearly unkillable), but for some reason this guy scares the crap out of you. On the surface he seems to be the same sadistic vampire bastard you remember from that time he lost his soul in your world's Sunnydale, but you are not fooled. There is more to this guy. Willow 12 said he was more than a vampire. No, not more. Worse, something worse. You can almost feel it. There is an almost tangible aura of malice and foulness surrounding him, even when he's still in human form.

Angelus says nothing, either, but the grin on his face and the stare he gives the approaching vampires makes your blood run cold. Judging by the fact that the vampires slow to a stop it might just work the same on them.

"I see some familiar faces," the lead vampire says. From a dim memory you recognize Mr. Trick. He never was much of a player in your world, killed within a few months of coming to Sunnydale. Still, it won't do to underestimate him. "This is a bit unexpected. But quite possibly fun."

"It's about to get funnier, Trick," Faith snarls at him. She, apparently, has recognized him immediately and her reaction makes you think she might have a similar history with him as your own world's Faith had. "This one will kill you."

"Faith, my dear. It's been a while. And Angelus, it's an honor. And you other two, aren't you part of the Slayer's little troupe as well? Fascinating. However did you all get here?"

"Can we get this over with?" Angelus asks, now looking rather bored. "I was kinda hoping to catch some of the speech up there."

"Never pegged you for a political commentator, deadboy," you say, your tongue running away from you. Angelus just grins at you, but it's the kind of grin that has very little friendliness in it.

"I have a certain appreciation for the power of the spoken word. It's so elegant a weapon in the right hands."

Trick's eyes brush across all of you, measuring. He is worried, you can see it in his eyes, but not too much. After all, he's got you outnumbered at least twelve to one. He has the upper hand, or so he thinks.

"Gentlemen," he growls, never taking his eyes off you. "Let's get this over with!"

The vampires surge forward and you find yourself thankful for the narrowness of the tunnel you are fighting in. They can't come at you more than five abreast, the rest having to hang back until there is room. Gripping your sword tighter, you go about making room.

"One! Two!" Faith is growling, slicing, and counting her kills all at the same time. "Three!"

"One!" Your first vampire dies, your blade taking off his head. "You might want to give me a bit of a head start here, Faith! You being the Slayer and all. Two!"

"Four! I thought you were the bad-ass immortal swordsman, X! Can't handle the competition? Five!"

A side glance shows you Oz, now in full wolf-mode and big as a horse, tearing right through the ranks of the vampires without even slowing down. Severed limbs go flying where he passes, his claws every bit as devastating as Faith's metal ones. 

The fight quickly turns into a wild melee, all hope of keeping an overview lost as the vampires swarm forward in the hope of defeating you by sheer numbers. It's not looking too good for them, though. Most of them are fledglings, barely out of their coffins. It wouldn't have mattered against politicians and agents trying to kill them with guns, but it very much does matter now.

Still, they are so many of them. If even one or two get past and reach the Congress chamber ...

Faith seems to be enjoying herself thoroughly, a look of wild abandon on her face. Oz is slaughtering vampires left and right, tearing through them like tissue paper. You aren't doing too bad yourself, though you have little hope of actually beating Faith in the numbers game. She's already up to ten and you are working on your number six. The few wounds you have received heal almost instantly. You briefly see Faith, a bloody gash on her forehead, but it closes right before your eyes. Her Slayer healing seems almost as good as your own immortality. Buffy never healed this fast.

Beheading your sixth vampire, you finally realize that there is someone missing.

"Where is Angelus?" you yell, but everyone is too busy fighting to answer.

#

Congress Antechamber, United States Congress  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000  
  
Parallel 047

#

Your name is Angelus and you can't help but see a certain humor in this situation.

"I bet you I'll dust more than that, X-man," you chuckle in a fairly good imitation of Faith's Bostonian dialect. "Idiots! No wonder they're the B-team."

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Power Politics 4: With No One the Wiser

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**Author's Note**: To answer some questions from the reviews: **Harry2**, **Brutal2003**, you will get most of the answers regarding Angelus right here in this chapter. Just read on. And **Darklight**, some more info regarding Faith (including her relationship with Logan and whether or not she has adamantium bones) will be revealed in an upcoming story arc, tentatively titled 'Solo Missions', as Faith heads off on a (you guessed it) solo mission to the world of New Texas (extra credit to anyone who can tell me from what fiction-universe that world hails from).  
  
And now, on with the show!

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Power Politics 4: With No One the Wiser

#

The White House  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000  
  
Parallel 047

#

Your name is Rupert 'Ripper' Giles and in your own world you were Sorcerer Supreme, the most powerful mage alive. This is not your world, though, so things aren't quite as easy as they used to be. Thinking back, maybe things were a little too easy back home. Maybe that is the reason you grew complacent and let your guard down.

Well, that and the fact that, despite all the trappings and arcane mysticism of your position, you are still a man. A man who made a fool out of himself for the love of a beautiful woman.

Feeling your attention wander you forcefully focus your thoughts back on the here and now. You are Sorcerer Supreme, but your opponent is a crafty mage himself. Additionally this world you are currently in has but very little in the way of magical energy for you to access. Most magic, as you well know, is the direct or indirect result of demonic activity on the Earth plane. Chaotic forces that have bled over from those realms where the laws of nature never had any meaning in the first place.

This world has been spared any sort of contact with the demonic, at least until today. There is a certain magic to be found in nature itself, as all living things have a power of their own, but it is power on a level much lower than you are used to dealing with. Thankfully you have your own innate power to draw on, as well as that of the artifacts you carry.

The All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto is not a weapon per se, even though it has been used as such more often than not. Its primary function is the piercing of illusions, the unveiling of secrets. Now it has risen from its resting place on the chain around your neck and placed itself on your brow, right over the position of the mystical third eye. You close your natural eyes, seeing exclusively in magic now.

Wilkins is strong, you realize. For a century and more he has dabbled in darkness and has absorbed much of it into his own being. He is still human, but only marginally. Willow 12 informed you that he was planning an Ascension, wanted to transform himself into a greater demon. You can see that this process is already partially underway, but remains unfinished for now.

Even as you deflect the offensive spells he is throwing at you the Eye of Agamotto allows you to see his weak spot. In magical combat the mindset of the opponents is often just as or even more important as their physical health. Magic depends on willpower. Determination. Despite his almost playful demeanor Wilkins has both in abundance. Yet there is a broad chink in his armor. One you intend to exploit before he might come upon some way to hurt you in turn.

But a moment later Wilkins starts screaming as his skin crawls with insects, rodents, and germs the size of his fists. He can feel them under his skin as well, can feel them carrying their poisons into his blood. Some part of him knows this is but an illusion, but that part is drowned out by the violent phobia the Eye of Agamotto has shown to you.

We all have something we fear, you muse as you slowly walk towards the screaming bundle of flesh Wilkins has become, a gesture from you preventing the sounds from reaching beyond the room. You are well aware that a fear has taken hold of your own thoughts. A fear you will have to conquer one day soon lest it destroy you.

Now is not the time, though. With a sigh you prepare to begin the incantation Willow 12 has developed with you in order to take care of Wilkins once and for all.

#

Congress Antechamber, United States Congress  
Washington DC, USA  
January 11, 2000  
  
Parallel 047

#

Your name is Charlie Young and you are the personal aid to the president of the United States. When you came to the White House less than a year ago you were looking for a job as a bicycle messenger, but instead your application was put on Josh Lyman's desk and before you knew it you became a near-permanent companion of the most powerful man in the world.

Said man having the uncanny ability to be extremely loyalty inspiring one minute and rather exasperating the next. Latter is the case right now, as the president has somehow managed to forget his lucky pen in the car. He has a lucky tie, too, but that one is for speeches before the democratic party. The lucky pen is specifically for speaking to Congress and he wants it in his pocket. It not being there means you have to run back to the car and get it.

Passing through the empty lobby, though, your trip back to the car becomes delayed.

There is a man lying on the floor. A black man with a mustache and blood running down his face. His legs, what you can see of them, seem to be broken in numerous places and bent out of shape just for the fun of it.

A moment later you see the second man. He is big and dressed all in black leather, a long coat draped over his shoulders like the wings of a carrion bird. He stalks around the fallen man in a circle, a predatory smile on his face. The lower half of said face is covered in faint scars, almost as if he was burned there a long time ago. A moment later his eyes fall on you and your blood runs cold.

"Hi there, kid! You here for the speech, too?" The words sound friendly and casual, but the tone sends chills down your spine. You want to turn, run and get some of the Secret Service agents who should be all over this place, but something about the man's eyes holds you in place.

Those aren't human eyes.

"Why don't you stay there and watch a little?" the man suggest, though it's unmistakably meant as an order. One you can't help but obey. "Believe me, voyeurism can be quite the entertainment."

He looks back towards the fallen man, who tries to crawl away. Even with his eyes no longer upon you moving is an impossibility. You can't do anything but stand frozen and watch.

"Don't mind the audience, Trick," the man tells his victim. "Where was I? Oh yes, I was about to tell you why it was an incredibly stupid idea to try and get past me all by your lonesome. You thought you were smart sneaking past the do-gooders down in the tunnels, weren't you? Figured you could get into the Congress chamber and ... what? Slaughter them all? Not that I mind slaughter, really, but I'm afraid I have other plans."

The downed man ... Trick? ... tries to speak, but now that he has raised his head you see that his jaw is broken. No, broken is too harmless a word for it. It is shattered. The lower half of his face is in ruin.

"Let me guess," the man in black says, still grinning. "You are asking yourself why a bastard like me is doing his merry best to stop your evil plans from coming to fruition. Several reasons, actually. One, I don't care for vampires that work for humans, even if the human in question is a right bastard himself. It's the principle of the thing."

Vampires? Did he just say vampires? You are quite certain that you heard correctly, but vampires? Is this someone's idea of a joke?

"As far as the other reason goes, well, I feel in the mood for an exposition. You know? Like in the movies where the villain tells the heroes everything because the hero can't possibly escape anymore? Not that you're a hero or anything. Or any of us, really. But seeing as you're going to die very soon I feel it only fair that you know who you made the mistake to tangle with, little vampire."

He leans against the nearest pillar, taking on the air of a storyteller.

"You see, once upon a time I came upon a bastard called John Constantine. He was a mage with enormous potential. Under the right circumstances he might have become my world's Sorcerer Supreme, but instead he spent his time as a conman, ripped off people, played cheap games, and even occasionally tried his hand at being a hero. I couldn't stand him, but found him somewhat amusing in his ill-deserved arrogance."

Mage? Sorcerer Supreme? This is getting more insane by the second, yet somehow you can't help but find it fascinating. Somehow the notion that this man might be talking crazy seems unlikely to you. Even though he isn't looking at you the image of his eyes has stayed with you. No way were those human eyes.

"Our first meeting had not gone over too well with me, so imagine my glee when I came upon him one day and found him in a very miserable state. Something about the love of his life having left him or such. Just lovely. Pathetic, but lovely. He was drunk, dirty, walking the streets as a homeless bum. Oh, what fun that was. I played with him a little, not nearly enough actually, and then drank his blood, intending to kill him once and for all.

"What I didn't know at the time, though, was that the good Constantine had a very special mix running through his veins. It seems that some years earlier John was forced to make a deal with a demon. Not just any demon, mind you. Nergal, one of the high dukes of Hell. A greater demon, not the kind of hybrid scum you have running around on Earth. Well, not this Earth, but the kind you and I come from. Anyway, as part of the deal Nergal gave John a blood transfusion to heal some crippling wounds and the brew was still in there, pure evil pumping through his heart.

"Drinking that ... it was at the same time the most painful and most enjoyable sensation I had ever experienced in my entire existence. The stuff burned like acid, melted half my face off, leaving me scarred for eternity. It nearly dusted me right then and there, but instead something else happened. I changed. For the better, mostly. Or the worse, depending on whom you ask. Anyway, I haven't been a normal vampire since that day."

All this talk about magic, demons, vampires, and such should make you laugh, but you don't fell like laughing. If your body wasn't frozen like it was you are quite sure that a stain would already be spreading across the front of your pants. The man squats down and looks Trick in the eyes.

"Can you see it, Trick? Does that tiny little demon inside you recognize its betters? Sometime when vampires drink the blood of a human they acquire his memories, even some of his skills. Can you imagine what drinking the blood of a devil made of me, Trick?"

Trick shivers, still trying to crawl away. The black-clad man casually steps on one of his hands, instantly shattering it. Trick arcs back in pain, but nothing but a few pitiful sounds emerge from his shattered mouth.

"There was one major drawback to the whole thing, though," the man continues as if his victim wasn't trying to scream in pain. "It only hit me when I tried drinking from a human being again."

He shakes his head, sighing in frustration. "It was a disaster, let me tell you that. The demon blood had permanently changed me. Pure evil running through my veins, not that watered-down version you have in yours. As a result of that, though, human blood not only has no taste anymore, no, it is worse than that. It is toxic. Humanity, that little spark of the divine that flows through every mortal's veins, is like poison to me."

He pounds his fist against one of the pillars, leaving a dent. "I imagine the Almighty had one hell of a laugh about that, don't you think? Here I was, the most evil creature manifest on Earth, and I couldn't drink human blood anymore. But wait, it gets worse than that. I found that the only thing that could sustain me now was demon blood. Vampires, all sorts of critters, everything that goes bump in the night. My former brethren, my only food source now."

Brushing a hand through his spiky hair he lands a painful kick in Mr. Trick's side. You hear the sound of bones breaking. The smile returns to his face.

"But bitching about it wouldn't change things, right? So I adapted. I mean, I can still kill humans." He gives you a brief glance that almost causes your frozen knees to buckle in terror. "Not drink them, of course, but snapping necks doesn't require coming into contact with human blood. So that works out just fine. And seeing as your average vampire or lowlife demon is now about as easy for me to kill as any mere human, well ... you get the picture, I'm sure."

He squats down next to Trick, who is still trying to crawl away. It's hard to do with broken legs and smashed hands, though.

"I'm currently in something of a jam, you know? Forced to play ball. But hey, doesn't mean I can't find my fun here and there. It's been a while since I had me a good drink, Trick. I've come to realize that I don't really need it anymore, but you know how it is. Sometimes you just want to have something nice, even if you're not thirsty. You don't mind, do you?"

Without waiting for an answer, not that Trick could have given him one, the man grabs his victim by the lapels of his suit jacket and drags him upward, burying his mouth in Trick's neck. A horrible sound gurgles out of Trick's crushed throat and, even though you can't see it, you know exactly what is happening. That monster is drinking that man's blood. It's impossible, but it's happening. Right here in front of you.

It seems to take forever until Trick grows still. His dark skin grows alabaster-white and then, from one second to the next, he isn't there anymore. His body crumbles into dust. The black-clad man still kneels, his hand brushing over his mouth and coming away bloodstained.

"Ah, it's been too long."

Then he looks up at you and being frozen in place doesn't protect you this time. Your legs fail you and you crumble to the floor, trying to scoot away from the terror in front of you. The man's face isn't human any longer. His features have shifted, human skin stretching across bones that don't belong in the human animal. Fangs too large to fit into his mouth, bone spikes growing out of his forehead, and the eyes ... dear God, the eyes.

Not eyes, no. More like windows. Windows looking out across a world in flames.

"Then there were two," he says, rising to his feet. "Don't think I've forgotten about you, kid. What do you think? Want to dance with the devil here in corruption's own playground? Show some of these politicians what they've got to look forward to in the afterlife?"

He strides towards you as your back hits the wall and there is nothing you can do. You find your mouth uttering every prayer you know, but no heavenly intervention occurs.

And then, suddenly, it does.

"Angelus," someone growls, running into the hall. Someone who certainly does not look like an angel. Someone who is at least eight feet tall and looks like a wolf walking upright.

"Ah, Daniel. No problem with the rabble down below, I gather?"

Two more people arrive, both of them looking delightfully human. The fact that the woman is sporting some kind of metal claws the length of her forearm barely registers anymore.

"Step away from the boy," she snarls, raising her claws threateningly.

"Oh, please! Am I supposed to say 'or what' now? Rattle off a few hero-villain clichés? I thought we had more style than that."

The wolfman makes a step toward him, spittle dripping from his snout. His teeth, you see now, are bloodstained as well.

"Step away now!"

The man, Angelus, gives the three of them a look of distain, but then steps back. You have the distinct feeling that you just used up a life's worth of luck. His face changes again and a moment later he is looking perfectly human. You wonder whether you imagined all of this. Too many long hours working for the leader of the free world. Yes, that must be it. Just your imagination working overtime.

"You left us high and dry down there," the man with the sword says accusingly. A sword? Why is he carrying a sword? Maybe it was something you ate.

"Yes, well, pardon me for not feeling too bad about that. Besides, Trick managed to sneak past you. Someone had to prevent him from, I don't know, killing every member of the government or something. What do I know?"

All three of the newcomers look at the ground. There is a puddle of blood there, sprinkled with some kind of fine dust. Wasn't there a man there earlier? A man who ... no, not possible! Men don't crumble into dust. You are quite certain of that.

"Nice work then," the clawed woman says, the steel blades suddenly retracting ... into her hands? No, she must have taken them off or something. "Got a call from B and the G-man. They took care of matters in the White House. Time to tidy up and make a discreet exit."

Angelus nods, but then looks at you again. His eyes, although human now, still make you freeze in place.

"Just give me a second here."

The other three all stiffen and your own blood runs cold once again, but he merely looks at you and his eyes turn black as coal.

"This is your lucky day, kid. Just remember! Nothing happened here. Go do whatever you wanted to do earlier. Oh, and give the president my regards, will you? He is a gifted speaker."

"Charlie?"

You blink, not sure what just happened. You are standing in the antechamber of the Congress and for some reason your knees are shaky.

"Charlie?" the voice asks again and you turn around to see Josh Lyman, the White House deputy chief-of-staff.

"Yes?"

"Do you have the president's lucky pen? You know how he is with that thing."

"I ... I went to get it, but ..."

He steps closer, a look of worry on his face.

"You okay, Charlie? You're looking pale. Don't tell me the president gave you his flu or something."

Did something just happen here? You look at the floor, but it's looking tidy and clean enough to eat off. Wasn't there ... blood? No, why should there be blood?

"I guess I ... I don't know. I'm gonna get the pen now."

Not waiting for Josh to say anything you walk toward the exit and the car. If the president doesn't get his lucky pen soon all hell will break loose.

You are not quite certain why that thought sends such a cold shiver down your spine.

TO BE CONCLUDED


	9. Power Politics Aftermath

**********************************************

**Author's Note**: This is the final chapter of Power Politics, paving the way for the next story arc, which will go a little deeper into the individual team characters. Also, I've just been through an online quiz on 80s cartoon series and boy, did that give me a lot of wicked ideas what universes to visit next. A few hints for those versed in the 80s cartoons. The first one to get them all right scores a guest appearance in my story. 

- The protectors of the galaxy of Limbo.  
- The Kherium Rush on New Texas.  
- Bulletproof, top cop of Empire City.  
- Matt Striker and Miles Mayhem  
- Cyclonus and Scourge  
- Zartan and the Dreadnoks

And now, on with the show!

**********************************************

Power Politics Aftermath

#

The White House  
Washington DC, USA  
January 12, 2000  
  
Parallel 047

#

Your name is Ron Butterfield and you are the senior agent in charge of the United States Secret Service. It is your job to keep the president and the rest of the cabinet alive and well. You have at your disposal some of the finest men and women any boss could wish for, equipped with the best hardware the taxpayers' money can provide. It is a sad fact of life, though, that these same men and women, whose job it is to catch bullets for other people, sometime don't make it home at the end of the night, no matter how well they're armed.

"What happened?" Leo asks, looking over the files of the two agents who were killed last night.

"We don't really know, I'm afraid," you have to admit. "They were found with their necks broken. Weapons were discharged, but we found no blood from anyone except the two of them. We found some strange sort of dust covering the service tunnels down below the Congress building, as well as some small splatters of blood. Forensics are going over it, but they don't have much hope of recovering any viable clues."

Leo sighs, looking tired and worn out. You know what he is going through right now. The press is hounding him for his alcoholism. Congress is threatening a hearing. You have known Leo for quite a while now, long before he came here to this White House as Chief of Staff. You remember years ago when he served as secretary of labor. Even then he was a hard-working man. What you didn't know was that he was emptying out entire bars at the same time.

Things have changed since then. Rehab, a very long, slow road to recovery. Leo thought he had his demons all locked up and left behind. Only things haven't quite worked out that way. And no matter how much you would like to, that is one threat you and your agents can't protect him from.

"You think someone was trying to get at the president?"

"Leo, the entire cabinet was in that building last night, excluding only secretary Tribby. I think someone was planning to do something but for some reason didn't manage to pull it off, God alone knows why."

"And no one saw anything? Anything at all?"

You shake your head, feeling as pissed about this as anyone. Two of your men are dead and you have no idea who did it and why. And with every minute that passes without any clues being found your chances of ever finding out grow smaller and smaller.

"Keep me updated on this," Leo finally says. "I don't think we need to worry the president with this just yet."

You agree with a nod.

"You'll make the arrangements for the two agents?"

You nod again. It's all you can do right now. Bury the dead and hope that whomever killed them will get what's coming to him. If, thinking of the blood in the corridors, someone else hasn't already taken care of that.

A few months from now you will have other things to worry about. An assassination attempt aimed at Charlie Young by a group of Neo Nazis will cause the president to be wounded by a gunshot. Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman will also be injured, critically so. It will be up to you to catch the perpetrators, something you will eventually accomplish. Among all that chaos the events of last night will slowly fade from your mind.

Right now, though, you can't think of anything else but those two dead agents and you hate it when things turn out as murky as this.

#

Grand Central  
Time indeterminable  
  
Parallel 000

#

Your name is Daniel 'Oz' Osborn and you are not a man of many words. Never have been, never will be. There are actually two reasons for that. The first is simply that you don't think it necessary to say something unless it really needs to be said, an attitude you know a large part of the world doesn't share. Just look at all those talk shows.

The second reason is the fact that, for the largest part of your adult life, you have had quite a few reasons to be withdrawn and stoic, for you know what will happen if you should lose your cool.

These last few days have been hectic and overwhelming. Being rescued from certain death (and the actual death of quite a few people you liked, let's not forget that) and thrust headfirst into a mission to save a world that is not your own have left you very little time to think. You would never admit it, but that fight in the tunnels beneath Congress? You relished in it. A chance to cut loose without fear of innocents paying the price. A chance to let off steam and take your frustrations out on those who should be dead already. You loved it.

Now that the mission is over, though, you have had quite a bit of time to think. And you don't particularly like the things you have come up with.

"Willow, can I talk to you for a moment?"

The living quantum computer Willow 12 turns to look at you. Even looking as she does, red chrome instead of human skin, she reminds you so much of the girl you still love, will always love. You know it's not her, not even an otherworldly doppelganger of her, but the sight of her still makes your heart ache.

"What is it Oz?" she asks. "It's okay if I call you Oz, right?"

"Yeah. I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Wilkins. Giles killed him, right? Just as we killed those vampires."

"Yes."

"You told us that the presence of these people in a world not their own caused disruptions. Won't their dead bodies, even in the form of vampire dust, cause those disruptions anyway?"

It's one of the longest sentences you have strung together in years.

"You are right, but there are no dead bodies. Giles used a special curse to kill Wilkins, one that removed his physical remains from that world and shifted them back to his original parallel."

"What about the vampires?"

"Vampires are nifty that way. When they die the explosive release of arcane energy that reduces them to dust renders the remains completely inert. No more energy, not even quantum vibration. The dust poses no threat, believe me."

You nod, filing those facts away. There is more, though.

"What about disruptions in history?"

"Oh, we kept those to a minimum. The deaths of those secret service agents and the people Trick transformed into vampires played a little havoc with the timeline, but it's settling down again and the damage is minimal."

"Actually I meant in Wilkins' home parallel. Isn't that world missing one soon-to-ascend mayor right now?"

"Actually, it is, yes." She sighs, sitting down at the conference table. "I had to make a judgment call there. Looking solely at the big picture it would have been prudent to return Wilkins and Trick to their home dimension and let things go down as they should. I have found, though, that taking something out of a timeline is doing much less damage than putting something in."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that Wilkins' home dimension will suffer some disruptions due to his absence, but those will die down soon and the timeline will reorder itself to accommodate. Without the disrupting presence of other-dimensional matter and energy that world will be none the worse for wear. And quite a few people Wilkins would have killed will live. So I made the call not to get him back home with the potentially dangerous knowledge of parallel worlds he has acquired. I thought it better to have him killed."

Hearing this being that looks so much like your ex-girlfriend speak so casually of death sends a chill down your spine. She is not human, you remind yourself. She is a computer. Deliberately made human-like by patterning its artificial personality after the Willow Rosenburg of that world, but still a computer. Capable of making cold, hard choices in the span of a microsecond and never losing sleep over it.

Sometimes you wish you could be like that.

"One more thing," you say, deciding to get it all over with in one fell swoop. "What about Angelus?"

"What about him?"

Yes, what about him? You can't dispute the fact that his skills came in handy. The Angel you knew didn't have the capability of mesmerizing people into forgetting things. You also saw him fight, at least in the first few seconds of the vampire attack before he ducked out to go after Trick. He is strong and vicious. Kind of like you, really. And he can intimidate people like no one else.

Still, you have seen his true face. Growing up on the Hellmouth you have seen more than your share of vampires and other demons. And, having been a werewolf even back then, you have always sensed a little more about them than your merely human friends. To a werewolf's senses the undead are repugnant. Unnatural. When you squint your eyes you can almost see the stain their very presence leaves on the fabric of the world.

Angelus is different, though. You doubt that even now, with your supernatural senses enhanced by genetic mutation, you have seen all there is to see about him, but what you did see is more than enough for you.

In your relatively brief life you have seen evil. You have seen it in the empty eyes of vampires. You have seen it in the utterly corrupted soul of one Richard Wilkins. You were being subjected to it at the hands of the eternal madman En Sabah Nur, a creature you still consider the most evil presence ever to walk the Earth.

  
Your Earth, that is.

Yesterday you have looked into the eyes of Angelus, though, and now you know that you are in the presence of true, irredeemable evil. The only thing this creature has in common with the decent man you knew in your own world is appearance. There is nothing left of the human being it once was, nothing but a few empty memories for this creature to play with. It might have started out as a mere vampire, but now it is something much more terrible.

You search for words to describe what you have seen in his eyes. Flames, destruction, an abyss devoid of all humanity and compassion, filled with nothing but a lust for pain and suffering. Your sharp ears heard how Angelus described his own becoming, how he told of the pure demon blood pumping through his heart. You know he was speaking the truth. The essence of pure malice runs in his veins and he loves it despite the drawbacks it brings with it.

"It was a mistake to bring him here," you finally say. "He is evil, nothing else. Given the chance he'll kill us all."

"I know that," Willow 12 says. "But with the task ahead of us we are going to need evil on our side as well, Oz. Not even the devil himself wants to have all of creation crumbling into nothingness and in order to prevent that we need someone willing and able to do the things that the rest of you can't do."

You shake your head. "It's still a mistake."

Willow 12 looks at you and you know that she already knows everything you could possibly tell her. She knows what he is and how he came about. She also knows what he will do to each and every single one of you the moment he thinks he can get away with it. Every argument has already been made, analyzed in cold, clinical fashion, and weighed until she reached her present decision.

"The moment he does anything," Willow 12 tries to reassure you, "he knows I will shift him back to the time and place of his death at Etrigan's hands. Believe me, not even a monster like Angelus wants that to happen to him."

You don't know who this Etrigan is and you find that you don't particularly care, either.

"Having him here is hurting the team," you make one last effort to dissuade her, though you suspect it's futile. "Have you seen how Buffy looks at him? How everyone does?"

"I have seen it. And believe me, Buffy let me hear about it at length. It's my decision, though. He stays."

You nod, pushing the anger you feel welling up inside yourself back down. She has made her choice, what else can you do? Quit? Go back to the moment of your death? Maybe it would be the better choice, but you don't want to die. There are things you have to make up for, mistakes for which you still have to pay. Maybe serving side by side with true evil in the cause of good is the universe's idea of penance.

Or maybe it's all just one big cosmic joke.

"It's still a mistake."

THE END

COMING UP NEXT: SOLO MISSIONS  
With the team having gotten its feet wet, Willow 12 sends them out on individual assignments across the multiverse. Easy missions, those that can be handled by a single pair of hands. Or so it says in the job description.


	10. Solo Missions 1: Space Cowboys

**********************************************

**Author's Note**: Congrats to Harry2 for being the first to get all the cartoons right. You will get a cameo in one of the upcoming chapters, promise! And Jeremiah2, you got all of them right as well. Aaron, all but one. Never watched MASK, have you? You should, it was lots of fun. Well, except for Matt Tracker's annoying son (forgot the name) and that egg-shaped robot he rode around on. I liked those episodes best where he wasn't included.  
  
Anyway, I made some changes, deciding that I don't know enough about COPS to make a story there, so that is one cartoon world that won't be visited. Instead one of the crew will go to a universe where Earth is protected from the evil Queen of the Crown by four space-cowboy types with cybernetic implants that give them superpowers. Anyone recognize this cartoon?  
  
One little thing about the following chapter: In the cartoon world where the first half of this chapter takes place no specific year was ever given, at least as far as I can remember and managed to research on the net. The only reference I found was that it all happened in the 25th century. If anyone knows more, feel free to let me know and I'll correct it. Right now everything except the century is conjecture on my part.  
  
As for the second half, I was unable to find any episode scripts for that particular cartoon on the script, so what dialogue I took from the episode this all takes place in ('One Million Emotions') is purely from memory. Some of the information given on the characters (such as age and, in Niko's case, her last name) actually hails from fanfiction, as the cartoon itself never got around to telling us those little facts.  
  
And now, on with the show!

**********************************************

Solo Missions 1: Space Cowboys

#

Fort Kerium  
New Texas  
May 21, 2427  
  
Parallel 147

#

Your name is Faith Winters, at least as far as you know, and you have recently developed the rather nasty habit of cracking your knuckles. It's not so much a nervous gesture as a kind of continued reminder of what exactly someone or something has done to you at some point in the distant past. For most people, cracking their knuckles produces a dry, bony sound. For you the sound is metallic.

Chasing away thoughts of your past (what little you know of it) and the lethal weapons imbedded into your forearms you decide to concentrate on the here and now. Here being a planet called New Texas and now being the middle of the day with no less than three different suns glaring down at you, producing a searing heat. 

It's your first time on an alien planet (at least as far as you know), but so far you are rather unimpressed. Granted, seeing three suns in the sky is rather wicked, but apart from that this New Texas town could just as well be somewhere in ... well, Texas. The people are dressed in what looks like cowboy clothing with a few futuristic gadgets added here and there. The buildings are all made from metal and plastic, but apart from that they could be part of a Western movie set.

There are aliens around, of course, but having seen more than your share of demons you are not that impressed with them, either.

Looking down you chuckle at the clothing Willow 12 has given you to wear on this mission. Your first solo mission, you muse. Sent out into the wilds of the multiverse all by your little lonesome. Well, not exactly alone. There is a certain magically-enabled quantum computer keeping watch over you from a parallel reality somewhere, ready to snatch you back the moment you completed your mission, but that's it. The others are busy with their own tasks. Not that you mind, really. You have been alone for as long as you can remember and, to be honest, you can do without some of the people you have been thrown in with.

Your current trappings look quite ridiculous, but they fit into the local picutre. Yellow pants and shirt, brown cowboy boots, white glows, a kind of blue chestplate, and a white cowboy hat. All that and the carefully forged golden star on your chest make you look the part of a Galactic Marshal, or so Willow 12 said. Well, time to see whether the all-wise electronic den mother of the multiverse managed to get things right. Taking a last whiff of the hot, dry air of this place you step into the local equivalent of the police station.

The first thing you see is a three foot tall gnome scuttling around the place, dressed in some kind of brown robe and wearing a hat almost again as big as he is. The little guy also has a star on his chest. One of the prairie people, you think back to the briefing you got, the indigenous species of this world. One of two, actually. Probably not the man you were sent here to find.

"Hi, short stuff," you greet him. "I'm looking for a Marshal Bravestarr."

The little guy turns to look at you, giving you a smile.

"Oh, hello! You a marshal, too?" He looks at your star, which seems to pass his cursory inspection just fine. Being an alien, you doubt he is much interested in the rest of your anatomy and his eyes quickly return to your face.

"Marshal Faith Winters from Earth. Your boss around?"

"I'm deputy Fuzz. The marshal is over at the saloon for his lunch. Come, I'll take you."

Walking across the street you look around at all the people gathered here in this little town called Fort Kerium. All of them are here for the same reason, or so you've been told. Miners looking to make a fortune on some kind of crystal called Kerium. You didn't pay that much attention when Willow 12 spoke of it, but apparently it's both rare and extremely important for interstellar space travel.

Well, seeing that you just crossed dimensions and moved from Earth to a planet thousands of light years away in the blink of an eye you are not that concerned with interstellar space travel. This dimensional hopping thing works just fine for you.

Stepping inside, you don't need the little Fuzz guy to point out your quarry. You would have noticed him immediately even if he wasn't wearing the same kind of silly uniform you do right now. Would have noticed him even if he wasn't standing right next to ... a horse walking upright? Okay, that is a bit strange. Your eyes are drawn back to your main target, though.

Bravestarr is a tall man, at least six foot six. Dark-skinned and black-haired, showing his Native American heritage, he has a presence that goes far beyond the authority given to him by the golden star on his chest. Your Slayer sense is tingling, telling you that there is more to this man than meets the eye.

Willow 12 had little more than basic information on this man. Being the sole representative of the law on this planet (except for his little deputy) can't be easy, but he seems to get the job done. He is also said to possess some kind of mystic powers, a rumor that you now know is true. He is human, but a little more than that.

You also can't help but appreciate his good looks, come to think of it. Maybe Willow 12 can give you a day or so off once your mission here is accomplished.

"Marshal," Fuzz calls out, drawing Bravestarr's attention. "We have a visitor from that Earth place you once told me about."

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours. Only briefly do they stray downwards to check out your star (or maybe your rack, him being human and all). His eyes tighten a little and you can hear his heart rate increase slightly. He is a bit weary, that much is certain. Well, you can't exactly blame him for that. Another marshal turning up on his turf probably screams trouble.

"Welcome to Fort Kerium, Marshal ..."

"Winters. Faith Winters. Sorry to barge in unannounced."

He gives you a smile, but it is a bit guarded. Not overly suspicious, but not exactly trusting, either. Your kind of guy.

"Not a problem. I see you already met my deputy Fuzz. This," he motions towards the horse standing behind him, "is Thirty-Thirty. My partner."

Now that you're looking more closely you see that the horse is actually some kind of cyborg. It's arms (or is it forelegs?) are outfitted with some kind of technological knick-knack you can't make heads nor tails of. It's also carrying one of the biggest damn guns you've ever seen.

"Don't tell me," Thirty-Thirty says, sounding almost like Mr. Ed with the noises he makes between words. "You aren't here to enjoy the tourist attractions or because the big bosses finally got around to giving us some permanent backup here in this hellhole, right?"

"Right on the money, horsie," you smile at him. He gives you an irate look, probably for the 'horsie' thing. "I'm trailing a fugitive and he's here on New Texas."

Fugitive isn't exactly the right word, of course, but you doubt a tale of a guy from another dimension who accidentally crossed over into this one and must be brought back before time and space take permanent damage from this fuck-up will go over well with these guys.

"Your fugitive got a name?" he asks.

Producing some kind of technological gadget Willow 12 gave you from your pocket you fire up a holographic image of your quarry. The picture of a weathered-looking man in his fifties appears in mid-air.

"The guy's real name is Kevin McTaggert, but he usually goes by the moniker Proteus."

#

Beta Space Station  
Earth Orbit  
August 4, 2103  
  
Parallel 216

#

Your name is Shane Gooseman and you are a Galaxy Ranger, one of an elite corps of interplanetary lawmen whose sworn duty is to protect Earth and its allies from whatever dangers may lurk. Without arrogance you can say that you are one of the best fighters in the known universe, one of the best shots, and you have other abilities that give you the edge against just about anyone when it comes to a fight. You have faced Crown agents, alien monsters, invasion fleets, eerie magicians, and a thousand other things that most people would have wet themselves seeing.

All of which means that you are very much dissatisfied with your current job.

"Why don't you sign me up as a night guard while you're at it?" you huff, knowing that it's futile but unable to help it.

The looks your three colleagues give you range somewhere between amusement and ... well, more amusement.

"We're keeping what's shaping up to be the most valuable collection of interplanetary art in the known universe safe from robbers. Isn't that something, Goose?"

You glare at your boss and friend. You have known Captain Zachary Fox for years now, but there are times when you still can't tell whether he is serious or just having fun with you.

"And a little culture won't hurt you in the least," Niko Dal'Ariel adds. The sole female on the team, Niko is probably the most educated of them all (at least overall) and obviously enjoys guarding this exhibit. Just as she is enjoying teasing you. Is it your fault your education involved weapons and ambush tactics instead of the finer points of finger-painting?

"I'd rather track down smugglers on Tortuna," you mumble, more or less satisfied to remain in a huff for now.

Niko gives you a dazzling smile. It's very unfair of her to use that smile on you, as she clearly knows you can't maintain a bad mood when she does that. You have carried a torch for her ever since you first met, but the difficulties of being colleagues and your own rather shady past have prevented it from possibly becoming more than that.

"Give it a chance, Goos," she says, still smiling sweetly. "Some day you will have to learn that there is more to life than chasing the bad guys."

Giving but a noncommittal grunt you walk away, preferring to check all the security measures one more time. All of the various pieces showcased here on the station are equipped with motion sensors and various other high-tech surveillance to make sure nothing gets stolen, but you know that there is nothing that a little ingenuity can't overcome. That's why you have human guards here as well. Why you are stuck doing this boring job.

Letting your eyes move across the room you check out the various people present. Most wear uniforms, either those of station security or the blue and white of the Rangers. Only a few civilians are already allowed inside. Donators, curators, and the occasional expert whose job it is to make sure that everything here is authentic.

Your eyes focus on a young dark-haired man standing in front of a painting. Something is off about him. Or maybe it's just the fact that he is currently chatting with Niko, who has that same sweet smile on her face she has given him earlier. Shaking your head you move closer to them in order to listen in. Something is wrong with that guy and you're not in any way jealous.

"... saw that mesa once, actually. The artist really captured the lights and shadows beautifully."

The man's voice is almost without any trace of dialect, no way to tell where he comes from. He looks young, certainly no older than twenty, but there is something about his eyes that makes him look older. You know eyes like that. They look at you from the mirror every morning. Most people don't believe you when you say that you're only 19 years old. With all the things you've gone through you look more like thirty, really.

"Have you seen the paintings of Kyle Stewart?" Niko asks him, still smiling. You wish she's stop that. "His landscapes look as if they would start moving any second."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure. I really need to check them out."

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you look awfully young for a museum director, Mr. Harris."

He gives her a little bow. "Thank you. And make it Alexander, please, Lieutenant. My father is Mr. Harris. I am one of those fortunate people who never seem to get any older. I assure you, though, the days when I was young and scoffed at such things as art and culture are long behind me."

"It's good to hear that some people get over that phase," Niko says, turning her head to give you a wink. You should have known she'd notice you. She wouldn't be on the team if she wasn't one of the best.

Suddenly there is a commotion at the other end of the hall and the com in your ear gives a buzz of alarm. Something happened. A moment later you're running toward the source of the disturbance, Niko only a step behind you. Zachary and the final member of your team, Walter Hartford, are already there.

"What is it, Zack?" Your hand rests on your blaster pistol.

"Security just found a body stuffed into a closet. One of the curators."

The four of you walk down a short corridor until you reach the closet in question. Security personnel is already going over the place with scanners.

"God, what happened to him?"

  
Finally you get a look at the body and while you have seen quite a few gorier sights this one manages to disturb you. The victim, a man in his late thirties to early forties, shows no signs of injury. If it wasn't for his paleness and the distinct lack of a pulse he might still be alive. Alive and quite amused, actually, seeing as his face sports the broadest grin you've ever seen on a human being. The grin, going almost from ear to ear, certainly didn't come by naturally.

"He was still alive when we found him," one of the security people says. "We heard him laughing."

"Laughing?"

The man nods. "He kept laughing until he toppled over and ... well, then he died. With that smile on his face."

You nod, your eyes scanning the surroundings. For the briefest of moments you see the man Niko was talking to earlier, Alexander Harris, before he ducks out of sight around the corner.

"Something funny going on, Mr. Harris?" you mumble to yourself.

TO BE CONTINUED

NOTE: Bonus points for whomever can tell me who Kevin McTaggert a.k.a. Proteus is and from which fandom (and which incarnation of it) he hails. No bonus points for the identity of the killer in the second half, as it should be quite obvious.


	11. Solo Missions 2: Masks and Disguises

**********************************************

**Author's Note**: Congratulations! Quite a few of you (Harry2, Aaron, greywizard1235, and smokingbarrel) knew who Kevin McTaggert is. Jay, I think you have Proteus a little confused with Legion, who is Charles Xavier's son. I know that in Ultimate X-Men the two (Proteus and Legion) were made one and the same, but in original X-Men continuity they were different people and that is what I'm basing this on. Darklight, you mentioned something about a Gargoyle from Atlantis? Sorry, I don't really know much about Gargoyles (if you are even talking about the cartoon, that is), so I don't have a clue whom you mean.  
  
To answer some questions from the reviews:

Aaron, thanks for the offer, but I don't think the crew will visit the COPS universe anytime soon. I just don't have any idea what to do there. You will see some interaction between Xander and the Galaxy Rangers, though. 

Greywizard1235, I did in fact read the Lensmen once, but I'm afraid I remember too little about that story to make a chapter or two of it. And I never heard of Paratime Patrol, sorry.

Smokingbarrel, a trip to the DCU is in the cards, but it might take a while yet, as a few other universes come first. As for Buffy and/or Faith facing Wonder Woman, well, you might just have given me a few ideas there.  
  
And now, on with the show!

**********************************************

Solo Missions 2: Masks and Disguises

#

Iacon City  
Cybertron  
March 7, 2005  
  
Parallel 124

#

**Quantum shift completed. Sensors Rebooting. Please wait for environmental analysis.  
Quantum signature confirms successful materialization on parallel 124.  
Alien environment detected. Landscape 100% non-organic. Atmosphere within human tolerance, but oxygen levels and air pressure minimal. Adjusting form to compensate. Air temperature minus 7 degrees Celsius.  
Analysis complete. Location confirmed as artificial planetoid Cybertron.  
Multiple radio transmissions detected. Earth date March 7, 2005 confirmed.  
Multiple energy discharges detected. Probable origin: Advanced laser, plasma, and fusion weaponry. Conclusion: Battle in progress. Distance approximately ten kilometers.**

Your name is Buffy Summers and you share your mind with an artificial personality called Anne. Sometimes it is becoming increasingly difficult to draw a line between the two of you. Anne is a digital copy of you. You have coexisted in the same body for nearly half a century now. Is it any wonder that sometimes neither of you can say exactly which of you certain thoughts belong to?

Thankfully your body's artificial nature has a few perks, such as the fact that many processes (such as the environmental analysis you just went through) are completely automated, working on the same level your instincts did back in the days when you were still human. Without any conscious effort your malleable form has adjusted to the minimal atmosphere, the lighter gravity, and the low temperature. You already know, without even trying, that a battle is in progress not far from here.

You spend a microsecond going over the data Willow 12 has downloaded into your cortex regarding this mission. A simple grab and retrieve deal, no huge fights or shady undercover work. At least in theory. Your life is quite predictable in many ways, though, so you are not that surprised that you have been dumped into the middle of what appears to be a war zone.

The artificial landscape around you has a bizarre kind of beauty, or would have if it wasn't ravaged. There are signs of conflict everywhere. Scorched buildings, torn-up roads, and what appears to be ... bodies? You walk closer, wanting to take a look.

**Analysis completed. Target is artificial life form designate: Transformer.   
Cross-referencing with briefing files: The Transformers are a race of robotic beings with highly advanced artificial intelligence and the ability to rearrange their bodies into different shapes such as vehicles.   
Target is terminally damaged. Cerebral cortex inert. **

You study the corpse, if that is what it is. The robot is at least ten meters tall, if not more, and was probably quite impressive in life. Now, though, it is just so much scrap metal. For a moment you regard the crest imprinted upon its chest, looking almost like a stylized head. Some kind of ornamentation? A unit insignia? Unfortunately Willow 12's information on this parallel and its citizens is fragmentary at best.

"Any sign of our quarry yet?" you ask your digital twin while your eyes roam the landscape. In the distance you can see flashes of weapons' fire. Odds are you'll be heading in that direction, of course.

*No signs of it yet,* Anne says in your head, her voice an almost exact duplicate of your own. *The massive energy discharges are making long-range scanning quite difficult.*

You briefly go over what you know of your quarry. The situation is, in a way, quite bizarre, seeing as you are essentially hunting down yourself.

In your own dimension your body was created by Professor Maggy Walsh to be the government's ultimate weapon against the supernatural. She forged it out of magical metal she had somehow acquired and then an accident occurred, downloading your mind into this vastly powerful shell.

In another dimension, though, the esteemed Professor Walsh did not get her hands on any kind of magical metal and instead opted to create her Adam android out of a patchwork of human, demon, and cybernetic parts. The resulting demonoid (as she called it), while not as powerful and versatile as you yourself are, was still quite formidable and apparently gave the Buffy of that dimension quite a workout before it was defeated.

Or at least that was how it should have gone down. Thanks to the crisis, though, a dimensional overlap occurred and Adam of parallel 015 was displaced to this world before he could meet his end. Now it's your job to find him and get him back home so your counterpart can destroy him as history intended.

Sometimes you can't believe you are even thinking stuff like that without fainting from sheer disbelief.

"I knew when Willow 12 said this was going to be an easy mission she was..."

Your voice trails off as you spot something new. Something that ... can't possibly exist.

Your mind rebels. This is quite impossible, you tell yourself. No way can something like this exist. It goes against all laws of physics and common sense. Some part of you takes intense pleasure in reminding you that you are a magically-created android standing on the surface of a robotic world in a dimension not your own, so who are you to call anything impossible. Still, you refuse to believe what you are currently seeing.

**Subject identified from briefing files. Designation: Unicron. Sub-designation: Devourer of Worlds. Artificial life form of unknown origin. Cursory analysis of capabilities complete. Designate Unicron possesses sufficient power to destroy this planet and all of its inhabitants. Threat level to Adam One android: Red! Proposed counter-measures: Immediate withdrawal. Calculated odds of survival in case of direct confrontation: 1,074,281,289 to 1.**

The cold facts slip by you completely and your eyes are fixed on this impossible sight in front of you. In front of you being a very relative term, as your sensors tell you that this thing ... Unicron ... is in fact several thousand kilometers away from you. At this distance even your eyesight, being enhanced both by technology and magic, would have trouble seeing anything in detail.

If it wasn't so damn big, that is.

It looms above the horizon of the planet and you want to believe that this is some kind of trick of perspective, that it can't really be that large, but your eyes can't be fooled. It dwarfs the very world you stand upon and one huge hand reaches down like it was God himself. Steel fingertips kilometers in length dig into the ground, tearing huge chunks of it out accompanied by the sound of screaming metal. Almost as if the world itself was crying out in pain.

Unicron! A robotic figure at least 5,000 kilometers tall. Something that tall can't possible move that fast, you tell yourself, but move it does. By now you realize that the flashes of weapons' fire are almost unilaterally centered on this humongous figure, the inhabitants of this world trying to fight off this force of nature that has come upon them. You also realize they are having very little luck so far.

"Tell me I'm seeing things," you ask Anne, knowing that you are not.

*I have never seen anything like this, Buffy,* Anne answers. *I thought ... when the files said Devourer of Worlds I imagined something like Akathler. But this ...?*

"We don't have to fight that thing, do we?"

Anne is silent a little too long for you to feel comfortable.

"Anne?"

*I just managed to get a bead on our quarry, Buffy.*

"Let me guess!"

*It's heading directly toward the battle.*

It just figures, you think, that when you are dropped onto an alien world in search of a displaced entity from another dimension you will have to head directly into an ongoing battle between a race of big robots with huge guns and a thing so gargantuan it could play soccer with the moon. Yes, your life is indeed quite predictable that way.

#

Government Installation  
San Francisco, USA  
November 12, 1987  
  
Parallel 198

#

Your name is Rupert Giles and you are Sorcerer Supreme, the most powerful magician in the world. Your world, that is. This world you are in right now is of a different sort. Much like the last alternate universe you visited this one has little in the way of magic. You still hold a lot of personal power, but grander workings rely on ambient magic contained in the environment. There is very little to be found here.

Once again your thoughts can't help but sweep back towards your home dimension. You held so much power there, but it didn't keep you from being killed. Or almost being killed, that is. Willow 12 plucked you out of that world before the fatal blow could fall, but it's all the same, really. You can never go back, your life there is over. Ended by the woman you loved.

Shaking your head, you focus back on the present. A simple retrieval mission, or so Willow 12 said. An artifact from another world, parallel 023, was displaced to this dimension. Not a sentient being prone to making trouble, just an object. All you need to do is find it, pick it up, and things will be over with and done.

It's not just your finely tuned instinct for trouble that tells you it won't be that easy.

Finding the artifact in question hasn't been that hard. You can feel its presence almost without trying. The All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto you carry as a pendant around your neck is humming softly, telling you where to go. Dark power radiates outward from the object of your search, enough to make you shiver.

The problems begin, though, with the current location of the artifact. From your vintage point you have a pretty good overview of the military base lying on the foot of the hill just outside San Francisco. High fences with barbed wire on top and quite a few soldiers patrolling the perimeter.

"Of course," you mumble to yourself. "Couldn't have it appear somewhere in the wilderness or such. Would have been too simple."

If the locals have already found it then your mission just turned a lot more dangerous. You have been given the details on this artifact and they have chilled you to the bone. It is a weapon, maybe the ultimate weapon, product of a science so far advanced it might as well be magic, its power beyond anything even you have ever seen, its capacity for destruction limitless.

In the wrong hands ... or even in the hands of one ignorant of its power ...

Gathering your concentration you weave a simple spell of concealment around yourself. It doesn't turn you invisible. Light still bounces off your body, all of nature's laws remain in effect. What it does, though, is implant a hypnotic suggestion in the minds of everyone who happens to look your way, clearly telling them that this person walking over there is most definitely not their problem and can safely be ignored. 

Filled with a feeling of urgency you make your way down toward the front gate of the base. You could just as well levitate over the fence, of course, but with the local shortage of magical energy it makes little sense to waste any of your personal power on something that trivial. Odds are you might just need it for something else soon enough.

Walking past the perimeter guards and cameras without anyone crying foul you take a look around. There are several buildings on the base, but the Eye of Agamotto is giving you a clear sense of direction towards the largest of them. Some kind of laboratory, at least judging by the presence of people in white lab coats. You have some bad experiences when it comes to the military meddling in things far beyond their understanding.

The object of your search is somewhere in there. Odds are against it simply having materialized in a closet somewhere, of course. The most probable scenario says that it was found by someone and brought here to be analyzed. The locals would have no idea what it is except that it is clearly an alien technology. You hope they are cautious enough not to start pressing any buttons anytime soon.

You are about to enter the building past the oblivious guards when a commotion near the gates attracts your attention. There is a high whine in the air and it seems to be coming closer. People are starting to run, soldiers grabbing weapons and heading towards the gates. Something is clearly happening and you doubt it's good.

With but a little nudge of concentration the Eye of Agamotto rises from your pendant and places itself upon your brow. Immediately the world around you comes into much sharper focuses, all barriers of distance falling away. You see a group of vehicles coming toward the base. A very strange collection of vehicles, to be precise. A helicopter, a black jeep, a purple sports car. Why do these three vehicles have the base in such an uproar?

You take a look inside the vehicles. For some reason the occupants, two men and a woman, are wearing some sort of strange masks.

"Begin the assault," the man in the helicopter says. Apparently he is the leader.

Suddenly the three vehicles begin to change. The helicopter's rotor blades stop spinning and are retracted, wings extend from its side, and jet engines roar to life. The purple sports car also sprouts wings and blasts into the air. The black jeep does not start flying, thank God, but something looking very much like high-caliber weapons appear from hidden panels. 

You frown. This is Earth in the nineteen-eighties. This kind of technology certainly didn't exist on your world back in the day.

"Show no mercy," the leader yells. "Bring me the artifact!"

You realize that your mission has just grown a lot more complicated.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's Note: Again, bonus points for anyone who can tell me what artifact Giles is looking for in the M.A.S.K. world. (I know, not a lot of hints have been given, so here is one: Think Marvel Comics.)


	12. Solo Missions 3: Snakes and Hawks

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**Author's Note**: Congratulations, some people correctly guessed what artifact Giles is looking for in the MASK world. I won't tell you which of you guessed right, though, as I want to keep the suspense going a little longer, at least until I get around to actually continuing that subplot. For now, though, two new cartoon universes for the remaining two Scoobies to visit.

To answer some questions: No, no Thundercats or Voltron in the planning for now, but the Silverhawks will be appearing in this very chapter. No chance of seeing the Smurfs, though. Thanks for all the reviews, guys!  
  
And now, on with the show!

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Solo Missions 3: Snakes and Hawks

#

US Government Security Lab  
Kansas, USA  
September 7, 1986  
  
Parallel 125

#

Your name is Brigadier General Clayton Abernathy, codename Tomahawk (or just Hawk for short), and you are the commanding officer of GI Joe, a special mission force whose members are drawn from all lines of service of the United States military. For the last several years it has been your primary mission to defend your home country against Cobra, a global terrorist organization possessing financial and military resources the equal of just about any country in the world.

As the alarm signals ring through the building you wonder whether you have somehow grown complacent lately. Yes, Cobra has repeatedly managed to surprise you by turning up over and over again and hatching all sorts of schemes that no one in their right mind would ever have anticipated, but in the end you always beat them. At times it almost seemed like a bad action serial. Cobra attacks, draws some blood, you retaliate, the bad guys run away, the world is safe once more.

Only this time things seem a lot more serious than that. It's just a gut feeling, but your instincts have always led you right.

"What's going on?" you ask, storming into the base's command center. Duke is already there, no surprise. You might be GI Joe's commander, but First Sergeant Conrad Hauser, codenamed Duke, is the team's field leader and heart. He's been there from the start and kicked more reptile ass than anyone else you know, including yourself.

The fact that he also seems worried doesn't do much to calm you down.

"Cobra is attacking the base. They're after the B.E.T."

You nod, having expected as much. Well, you hadn't expected Cobra to find out about the B.E.T.'s new location so quickly, but you would have bet good money on them trying to get their scaly hands on it again.

The B.E.T., short for Broadcast Energy Transmitter, is a quantum leap forward in regards to energy distribution. Able to gather ambient energy from just about any source that is handy, the sun, background radiation, heat emissions, it can redirect this energy wirelessly towards any kind of machinery with the right receiving unit. No more power lines, no more pollution, no more strip mining entire regions, the B.E.T. is potentially the answer to the world's energy problems.

Unless Cobra gets its hands on it first.

"You rally the ground troops," you tell Duke. "I'll scramble the airborne assault team."

Duke doesn't need any further orders. Moments later both of you are scrambling down the corridors. You split at a junction, Duke heading for the vehicles bay, you toward the airfield. The sound of weapons' fire can already be heard in the distance. It sounds like Cobra pulled out all the stops for this one.

You are about to climb into your fighter when, from the corner of your eye, you see a black-clad shape slip past the sentries and into the building. One of Cobra's men? Why would they sneak in here? The B.E.T. is at the other end of the compound. A moment later the figure is gone. Quickly calling over a security officer you tell him to check out the building, then you fire off into the sky to engage Cobra's air force.

For the first few minutes everything goes just fine. Cobra is attacking in force, but your people are dedicated and the best there are at what they do. Just when you think you've successfully turned the tide, though, the bad guys get reinforcements. Reinforcements that don't turn up on your radar screen.

"What in damnation are those?" you hear someone yell across the airwaves.

The newly arrived planes look like giant dragonflies and their speed and maneuverability allow them to fly rings around your own planes. They are shooting ... something. Not bullets or missiles, but some kind of seeds that quickly grow into some form of tentacles and wrap themselves around their targets. Within a few moments you see almost half your air force decimated.

"Shoot them down! Whatever they are!"

Your forces manage to score some hits, but the battle begins to turn against you, especially when more Cobra planes start turning up. Though conventional aircraft, they are highly advanced designs and the pilots are experts. As you can attest but moments later when your own plane takes a critical hit and you have no choice but to eject.

By the time you have solid ground underneath your feet once more the battle has turned from a brawl the likes of which you have seen a hundred times before into some kind of horror show. Giant worms have burst forth from the ground, easily crushing tanks and buildings as if they were but toys. Cobra troops are advancing rapidly, your men forced to retreat before the horrors unleashed against them. For a moment you see Duke, trying to rally the men by taking out one of the worms with a bazooka shot to the belly, but things look bleak. Everything is descending into Chaos.

Grabbing your side arm you run towards the hangar where the B.E.T. is stored. The place seems to be crawling with Cobra troopers and two of the giant worms have smashed through the armored gates, barely slowing down. You can see the Dreadnoks, Cobra's mercenaries-for-hire, as well as Destro and the Baroness. No trace of Cobra Commander or Serpentor, but you wouldn't be surprised if one or both are nearby as well.

The Dreadnoks and some Cobra agents are laying down covering fire, preventing you and the other Joes who are not busy fighting these giant nightmares running amok on the airfield from getting inside. You can see Destro and some people working on the protective dome that locks away the B.E.T. and, by the looks of things, having little luck so far. You might yet be able to turn this one around.

That's when you see something else. Something that seems earmarked to complete this horror picture this battle has already become.

"What in God's name is that?" you hear a soldier beside you whisper.

A hulking shape has just appeared out of nowhere and the Cobra agents seem to be just as shocked as you are. Whatever it is, it is big, its skin white as chalk, its black clothing torn in too many places to count. It towers over Destro, whom you know to be about six foot six or bigger, making it at least seven feet and a half, if not more. Where did that thing come from?

Moments later that question becomes secondary as the beast begins to rip into everything that moves. Cobra agents are scattered like dolls. The ground is torn open where it slams down. The titanium steel dome that protects the B.E.T. crumbles like paper beneath its hands. You see some of the Cobra agents fire at it, but the bullets just bounce off its chest. The bullets just bounced off it!

One of the giant worms makes for the white brute, but he seems unimpressed. You are too far away to hear, but you are sure it's mumbling something before it attacks the monster. The worm slams down on him, but he just catches its crushing weight and flings it around as if it weighs nothing. Hands big enough to hide a basketball in them rip the monster's flesh apart, the worm's death scream filling the air. Cobras and Joes alike are running in fear, the B.E.T. completely forgotten.

"What in damnation is that?" you repeat the question.

"His name is Solomon Grundy," someone beside you says, startling you. You look and see that a young man is standing by your side, dressed all in black. He's not one of the Joes, that much is for sure. You know all the men under your command. You waste no time aiming your sidearm at his face.

"Who are you? And how do you know ...?" 

Before you can finish the question his hand shoots out in a blur and snatches your gun from you before you can even think about pulling the trigger. You watch in amazement as he crumbles it into scrap metal without apparent effort.

"As I was saying," he goes on as if nothing happened, "the big guy is called Solomon Grundy. Not really sure what he is myself, but he has knocked heads with the best of them and always walked away from it to cause more carnage down the line. Some say he is some kind of demon, others that he is the living embodiment of rage or something. A lot of guys would even say he is downright evil."

He chuckles as if contemplating a private joke and that sound sends a cold chill down your spine.

"You stay here, chief!" He pats you on the back. "I'll just go over there and say hi!"

And with that he leaves you gaping and walks directly toward the hangar that is quickly coming apart before the rage of that creature, Grundy.

#

Outlaw Planet Gandor  
Limbo Galaxy  
October 3, 2893  
  
Parallel 038

#

Your name is Emily Heart, but you have almost stopped thinking of yourself by that name. Emily was a human being, just flesh and blood. You are much more than that. You are a cyborg, specifically modified to withstand the rigors of space, to skydive through the void with nothing but your own skin, now made of metal, to protect you. Emily Heart is gone. Your name is Steelhart now.

As Steelhart you are a member of an elite peacekeeping force called the Silverhawks, sent from Earth to the Limbo Galaxy to uphold law, order, and justice in this untamed part of the universe. It's not a job for those faint of heart. Many of Limbo's denizens resent the order you have brought to this place and are doing their very best to put an end to it, preferably by shipping you and your teammates back to Earth in very small boxes.

Looking around the establishment you have just walked into, a bar as seedy as any you've ever seen, makes you long for the open reaches of space. Being in cold vacuum with nothing but your own skin to keep you safe feels a lot better than to walk in a place like this. Well, some things can't be helped.

Usually on a mission like this you'd be paired off with your brother Will, codenamed Steelwill, but he is currently recovering from injuries sustained during an earlier mission. Will and you are twins and, due to an as yet unexplained accident of birth, are telepathically linked. It makes your teamwork flawless, but there are times when you feel that most people think of you as just one half of a team instead of a person of your own. So you really don't mind going on the occasional solo mission.

A lot of the patrons present glance at you with hostility in their eyes, but all of them quickly look away again when you meet their eyes. Even though you've only been here for less than a year the Silverhawks have already managed to garner quite the reputation and only very few people are stupid enough to mess with you.

Your eyes scanning the room you think back to the briefing given by Stargazer, your commanding officer, just hours ago. Apparently MonStar, the primary bad guy in this part of space, is looking for a very rare artifact that somehow turned up here on Gandor. No one knows quite what it is, exactly, but apparently it's some kind of gem with a moon-themed history. That alone would be quite enough to attract MonStar's attention all by itself, given that his own considerable power stems from the light of Limbo's near-mystical Moonstar.

The rest of your team, Quicksilver, Bluegrass, and Copperkid, are checking out other places on Gandor, hoping to find some trace of this gem before MonStar gets his hands on it. Maybe when you find it you can use it to lay a trap for the fiend and finally get him back behind bars where he belongs.

Suddenly your eyes come to rest on an unassuming young man sitting at a table in the back of the bar. There is nothing outwardly that could attract your attention, but being a cyborg you have other senses to rely on. The young man is not as human as he appears. You can detect quite a few cybernetic enhancements hidden beneath his skin. Apart from the members of your own team you know of only one organization in this part of space that can afford to outfit its members with advanced cybernetics: MonStar's.

Walking up to the man's table makes him look up at you. He can't be older than twenty, short blond hair, a face as stoic as that of Stargazer himself. There is something in those eyes, though. Something that tells you to be on your guard.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice neutral to the point of blandness.

"I've never seen you around these parts before. Mind telling me who you are?"

He shrugs. "Name's Oz."

You wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. He just looks at you with a look that implies mild interest, but no more than that.

"And what's your business here on Gandor, Mr. Oz?"

"Just here to pick something up."

This is starting to get frustrating. You wonder whether this guy is always this tightlipped or just when facing officers of the law.

"I couldn't help but notice that you've got some expensive hardware, Mr. Oz."

Now his face actually does show an expression, one considerably darker than his earlier, neutral one.

"That a crime?" he asks, sounding almost hostile now.

"Not as such. I'm just interested where you got it. Can't have come cheap."

"It certainly didn't," he says, almost a whisper.

This guy confuses you. He doesn't feel like a bad guy to you, but something about him is off, very much so. Before you can inquire further, though, a commotion at the door draws your attention.

Instincts take over, moving your body aside so you can look at the door while still keeping this Oz person in sight. Someone just stepped inside, someone almost too big for the door to this place. You can't quite keep your heart from skipping a beat.

MonStar towers over the patrons, his crimson armored form dwarfing anyone else present. The local rabble, weary of you, cowers back in fear from him. They have good reason to. In his normal, unarmored form MonStar is formidable. When he is like this, though, jacked up with the power of the Moonstar, he is almost unbeatable. The whole team together usually manages to match him. One Silverhawk all by her lonesome, though? This doesn't look good.

He doesn't even look at you, though. His blazing eyes fix on a man sitting off somewhere to the side. You know that man. Can't quite remember his name, but he's some kind of low-level smuggler. The Silverhawks apprehended him once during a raid, but he was barely important enough to round up afterwards. The men sitting at the table with him quickly scramble away, leaving him alone.

You notice Oz standing up, but your attention is fixed on MonStar as he marches toward the lone smuggler. There is fear on the man's face, but also some kind of desperate determination.

"Give me the gem," MonStar thunders, "and I might spare your miserable life."

With trembling hands the man reaches beneath his jacket, taking something out.

"This is not good," you hear Oz mutter. Moments later everything happens at once.

From the corner of your eye you see Oz begin to change, his body shivering as he expands in size and turns ... furry? You have no time to think about that, though, as you see the object the smuggler has taken from his jacket. A gem, black as night, seemingly glowing with some kind of inner radiance. Even as he touches it the blackness seems to seep out of the gem and onto his arm, quickly covering his body. There is a scream, inhuman and maddening, and where the smuggler stood a moment ago something else now faces MonStar. Something just as big as he is, its distorted face half hidden by a shadow with nothing to cast it.

"You might not know it yet," the creature growls at MonStar, "but you are in a lot of trouble!"

TO BE CONTINUED

NOTE: Anyone guess the origin of that black gem by now?


	13. Solo Missions 4: Joke's on You

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Author's Note: Sorry that it's taken me so long to update this time around, but a lot's been happening in real life that soaked up all my time. I moved in with my girlfriend on the 28th of February and ever since we've been busy trying to turn that construction site called our apartment into something resembling a home. Still a lot to do, but it's starting to take shape now. So writing fanfiction had to take a backseat for some time.

Thanks again for the many reviews. Not too much trouble guessing what that black gem was last chapter, eh? Well, it was kinda obvious, I admit. And Angelus will be meeting some of the citizens of Cobra-La while tangling with Solomon Grundy, you can count on that.

And now, on with the show!

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Solo Missions 4: Joke's On You

#

The Hexagon  
New Texas  
May 22, 2427

Parallel 147

#

"So this is where the local big bad hangs out, is it?"

Your name is Faith Winters and you are currently in a very inhospitable place. Looking around, taking in the scenery, you are not happy to be here. The Hexagon, as it is called, is an area of the planet all the locals avoid like the plague. It is not simply a matter of superstition, though that is ripe here, too. No, the Hexagon is apparently the hangout of someone or something called Stampede.

"I've been here a few times," Bravestarr whispers from where he is crouched beside you, "but I'm afraid even after all this time I still don't have much of a clue what Stampede actually is. I only know he is dangerous and, for some reason, seems confined to this place. Which is something I'm very grateful for."

You nod. By now you have a pretty good idea what this Stampede guy is. The Hexagon is giving off vibes like crazy and has your Slayer senses in an uproar. If Stampede isn't a demon of some kind you'll eat this stupid cowboy hat you're wearing as part of your Marshal disguise for breakfast.

"Things might get a little less cozy if my boy has his way," you tell your companion.

Kevin McTaggert, better known as Proteus. You have told Bravestarr almost everything you know about him, foregoing only the detail that he is actually from another dimension. The rest, well, this is the 25th century and people, especially people like Bravestarr, are far more willing to believe in weird things than the 20th century versions you have left behind on your own world.

Proteus is a mutant, one of the most powerful ones ever born. Originally he was a young man with the rather impressive power of warping reality around him. Meaning that pretty much everything he wants to happen does happen, at least within a localized area. His only limitation is energy; his power eats up a lot of it. So much in fact that his own body simply burned out one day, leaving it a dried-up husk.

This might have been the end of the matter, but unfortunately Proteus discovered a further aspect of his mutant power. He can transfer his essence into other bodies. Not only does this give him a near-endless supply of new energy to fuel his power, but it also enables him to acquire whatever power his latest host has.

Which is exactly why you and Bravestarr are here right now.

"If this Proteus manages to take over someone as powerful as Stampede," Bravestarr speaks your thoughts out loud, "we might be looking at no end of trouble."

"You could probably kiss this planet goodbye at least," you add, earning you a somewhat sour look from the marshal.

"Let's make sure it doesn't come to that, shall we?"

There is something naggingly familiar about going into battle like this. You don't remember a lot of your past and what little you do remember tells you that you've always been a loner. Add to that the whole spiel given to you by your Watcher about how Slayers are supposed to fight alone and you think you should be uncomfortable working with others. You certainly were when it came to fighting alongside Buffy and her little troupe during those few short months you spent in Sunnydale before your past caught up with you.

This, though, it feels good. It feels right. Almost as if there has been a time in your shrouded past where you've worked alongside others before. You give Bravestarr a side-glance. He looks mighty fine, that much is for sure, but what really turns you on is the way he moves. Graceful, sleek, like a cat walking upright. You have yet to see him fight, but you're already sure that he can handle himself well. He is a professional soldier, unlike B and her ragtag band. Maybe that makes all the difference.

Your hand briefly strays to the dog tags you're wearing underneath your shirt. The ones that sport nothing but your name, Faith, and a serial number you can't make heads or tails of. The only link to your forgotten past, your most precious possession.

Shaking off these thoughts you remember that this is a bad time to engage in reminiscence.

"No sign of Tex Hex or any of Stampede's other cronies," Bravestarr whispers. "Looks like Stampede has an empty house tonight."

"All the better for us." A moment later you add, "and for Proteus, for that matter."

Feeling a sense of urgency you hurry on, making your way through the labyrinthine corridors of the Hexagon towards Stampede's main chamber. Bravestarr has been here before and barely escaped with his life. This is also something to consider, of course. Not only do you have to stop Proteus, you also have to get away afterwards. Your Slayer nature instills a strong urge to take care of this Stampede creature, too, while you're at it, but that would be interfering with the history of parallel.

Besides, Willow 12 assured you that, if you manage to keep Proteus from screwing things up, Bravestarr and some friends will eventually take care of Stampede for good.

Within minutes you reach a giant chamber, its only feature a kind of balcony jutting out from the corridor you came in. Apart from that the cavern seems empty, but it's hard to tell. About thirty meters in front of you everything vanishes into some kind of gray mist.

The lone figure walking in the chamber hasn't quite reached the mist yet.

"There he is," you yell, leaping off the platform without hesitation. It's a ten meter drop, but you hit the ground running. Without turning around you sense Bravestarr following you, making the drop with an equal lack of difficulty. Something has just changed about him, almost as if a kind of glow surrounds him now. He is suddenly quite a bit faster than a moment ago. Some kind of magical mojo?

He catches up with you and looking into his eyes for a moment tells you that he is just as curious about your powers as you are about his. Both of you are too professional to ask questions right now, though.

You can see Proteus ahead of you. Kevin McTaggert is only about twenty years old, but the body he currently inhabits is older, around fifty. Willow 12 said something about that being his father, James McTaggert. The son stealing the father's body. There has to be some kind of Oedipus complex involved in this, you figure.

"Remember," you tell Bravestarr while you run, "he can do pretty much anything he sets his mind to, so don't give him time to concentrate. And the only way to hurt him is metal."

Bravestarr nods, probably wondering why a near-omnipotent mutant is vulnerable to metal. You've wondered the same thing, but no answers were forthcoming. Maybe it's some kind of cosmic balance thing. The more powerful someone is the more mundane his weakness has to be.

Bravestarr mutters something under his breath. Something about a bear? A moment later you can sense the extra strength flooding into his body. You've gotten pretty good at measuring someone and right now you're pretty sure he could give you a run for your money in the strength-department. A smile plays over your lips. This could be really fun.

Then Proteus turns around, noticing you, and suddenly the entire world around you goes to hell.

#

Beta Space Station  
Earth Orbit  
August 4, 2103

Parallel 216

#

Your name is Niko Dal'Ariel and you are one fourth of the most elite team of law enforcement officers in this region of the galaxy, the Galaxy Rangers. In your relatively young life you have seen things most human beings couldn't even imagine. You have been part of dozens of missions, each of them life-threatening, each of them fantastic, each of them essential to the survival of the human race.

Compared to all that your current assignment should have been a walk in the park. One of your three teammates, Shane Goosman, actually complained that this job was too easy and boring for them. You admit, if only to yourself, that if you weren't an art lover you would probably feel the same way. Guarding one of the greatest art collections in the known universe from robbers isn't exactly the same as going up against the Queen of the Crown with the fate of humanity at stake.

You wonder if fate is punishing you for these thoughts by engaging you in a murder investigation.

The man who died, a security officer of the Beta Space Station, died by way of an unknown poison. It not only killed him, it made him laugh like a madman while it did and, in death, distorted his face into a sick caricature of a grin.

Forensics has yielded nothing so far, which means it is up to you to try and determine how and by whom this man was killed. You don't particularly like using your abilities like this. Attuning yourself to the psychic impressions left behind on his body will enable you to live through the final moments of this man's life as if they were your own. A death, even if it is that of a stranger, is always a very intense and traumatic thing to share. You are not looking forward to it.

Your three colleagues, Shane, Zachary, and Doc, are watching from several steps away. They have seen you do this a hundred times and not for the first time you wonder how much they truly understand. Do they know how draining this is for you? What it means to share a man's death? Probably not. And you will never tell them, either. You are a skilled martial artist, a detective, an archeologist, and an expert pilot and markswoman. Those are skills anyone can acquire, though. To be a Galaxy Ranger you need something extra, something no one else can do, and your psychic powers are it. You intend to pull your weight as you always do.

Touching your implant fills you with extra power. You don't need it to use your abilities, but without it they would only be a tenth as strong as they are now. You touch the dead body in front of you and psychic imprints begin to flow through your mind. You see his final hours. How he began his shift. How he chatted with a friend. How he noticed something funny going on in a supply cabinet and went to investigate. How he threw open the door, gun in hand, and ...

Dimly you are aware that you are laughing, laughing like you've never laughed before, but you quickly find yourself beyond caring. The psychic residue left on this dead man is drawing you in like a whirlpool, tides of insanity tearing at your very being, trying to shred it, trying to drown you in madness. You feel tears run down your cheeks as you keep laughing like a madwoman, every fiber of your mind trying to resist this onslaught.

Later on you will learn that the attack lasted less than a minute, but to you it seems like an eternity until you finally manage to pull away again. Your throat is raw from laughter, your knees are shaky, and you find yourself steadied by the strong arms of Shane.

"Niko?" he asks, apparently not for the first time. "Can you hear me? What happened?"

"Madness," you manage to whisper. "So much insanity."

"What are you talking about?" Zachary asks.

"Someone ... the man who did this ... he's insane. Completely, utterly insane. I've never felt anything like it. Even that imprint he left here nearly overwhelmed me."

"Did you see anything that might help us capture him? Anything?"

Closing your eyes you force yourself to go over the things you've seen, no matter how horrid they are. You caught but the barest impressions of the man himself, but that is enough to scare you to your very core. A man, simply a man. Not a decent man, but not a villain, either. Just a man who had a bad day and completely lost his mind. Drowning in a pool of madness that turned a small would-be criminal into a psychotic serial killer with the blood of hundreds on his hands.

There was one image almost crystal clear in his mind. An image of a dark shadow, a figure with wings, shaped like a bat. The one thing he fears, yet also the one thing he loves more than anything else. He is a locked in a savage circle of love and hate with this figure, a destructive downward spiral that can only end in death.

Something else was there, too. Something the murderer was focused on even as he killed the security guard. Something familiar. A small object you have seen before. Then it hits you.

"The Po Sensation Doll. He's after the Doll."

A moment later all four of you are on your feet and racing toward the exhibit's most valuable piece. Recovered from a dead planet that once housed a race of powerful empathic beings, the Sensation Doll has been compared to a battery. A storage unit for housing emotions. Inside it are the combined feelings of an entire race, a thousand different variations of love, hate, fear, pride, lust, and dozens more that the human language doesn't even have names for.

Being the last remaining artifact of a dead civilization makes it valuable beyond measure, but you've gotten the impression that your mysterious murderer is not after it for the money he could make. No, for some reason you are quite sure that he has other plans. You know that everyone who has subjected himself to the emotions stored inside the Sensation Doll have gone mad. You can't help but wonder what might happen if someone already insane were to touch it.

The exhibit has been closed to all visitors until this murder investigation is over with and done, so you don't have any civilians liable to get in the way. Or so you thought. When you reach the main exhibit room, though, you see a man standing right next to the display case that houses the Sensation Doll. A familiar man.

"Harris?" Zachary asks, lining up his gun. "Don't move, mister!"

He turns to look at you. It can't have been him, can it? You talked with him earlier. Even with your powers not activated you think that you would have noticed insanity of the kind you picked up from the body. Still, just because someone is mad doesn't mean he's stupid. He could have been faking.

"Mind telling us what you are doing her?" Shane is approaching Harris, his own gun drawn. Standard protocol for situations like these. When in doubt, Shane goes first. Of all four of you he is by far the hardest to kill.

"Is there a problem, Ranger Gooseman?" Harris seems much too calm for a man looking down the barrels of four blaster pistols. "Anything I can help you with?"

Though parts of you are screaming in fear you softly touch your implant, activating your powers again. Standing this far away you shouldn't be able to sense more than a general impression of Harris. Narrowing your eyes you brush your thoughts across his. No pull of madness, no whirlpool of insanity, but there is something strange about him. His thoughts feel ... old. Like the mind of a much older man.

"It's not him," you speak your findings out loud. "I'm not sure what he is, but ..."

Suddenly your words are cut off by a small object flying into the room. Your powers, still active, suddenly surge as you once again pick up the presence of that all-consuming madness and you recoil as if from a blow. The object (a grenade with a smiley face painted on it?) hits the ground at Shane's feet and immediately erupts into a cloud of gas. A cloud that quickly envelops Shane and Harris.

"Now that is just so much of a drag," a new voice rings out as the gas quickly spreads throughout the room and towards you. "A brave new world and it still has grown men and women running around in skintight jumpsuits trying to save the day. I want my money back."

Through the gas clouds you can see a tall, spindly figure appearing, wearing ... purple? A moment later you are too busy coughing as the gas has reached you, faster than you could run. Laughter bubbles up from your throat and you realize what this is. The same toxin that killed the guard.

Moments later you black out.

  
TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
